Forced Hand
by KatPee81
Summary: How differently would the story have unfolded if a wedding had actually taken place in Catching Fire? Picks up after the Victory Tour, but before the Quell.
1. Chapter 1

There isn't a word strong enough to express my loathing for this train. Every time I board is in anticipation of something dreadful. The first time, I was being sent to certain death. When I came back alive, I was sent around the country to rub it in the faces of the families of those who didn't.

This time trumps the others by a wide margin. On this trip, I lose my freedom.

When I suggested the public marriage proposal, I thought Peeta and I would have a few years to worm our way out of it. Maybe stage a bad breakup or something. Or at the very least, we'd just have to put on the pretense of being blissfully married during our yearly trips to the Capitol. I never imagined Snow would be in such a hurry to throw a televised wedding for all of Panem to witness. Who forces two seventeen-year-olds to get married?

A dictator who enforces his will by making children kill each other for sport. That's who.

And, yeah. It's an official marriage. Peeta and I got the paperwork in the mail a few weeks ago. Snow was sure to enclose white rose petals in my packet. I got his message loud and clear: Don't even think of backing out.

But what's the point? The whole purpose of continuing the stupid song and dance is to calm the unrest in the districts—unrest that I'd inadvertently inspired in the arena. But the fact is the people were fed up with the Capitol long before I whipped out those stupid berries. They're so itching for revolution that it doesn't matter what Peeta and I say or do at this point. It's not like they're going to say, "_Oh, what a beautiful wedding. They really are in love. Well, never mind the uprising, then. Let's get back to work_."

Now they're more restless than ever.

Maybe the purpose of the wedding is to entertain the spoiled citizens of the Capitol. Maybe Snow is trying to humiliate me. Maybe he's trying to show me who's in charge. Maybe all of the above. I don't know. I've given up trying to figure out his motives.

According to Haymitch, if the worst thing I have to face as a Victor is legally binding myself to a devoted young man who loves me unconditionally, I'm getting off easy. Sure I am. We'll see how easy it is twelve years from now when Peeta and I are forced to mentor the kids I've always been determined to prevent as tributes in the Games.

And if that's getting off easy, I don't want to know what's happened to the others.

The day began with a visit from my prep team. A fitting start for such a dreaded endeavor. Because having all the hair on my body yanked out by the roots can't wait until I get to the Capitol. Of course not. Because the camera crews were there to film us boarding the train. Only in the Capitol do they consider stepping onto a train newsworthy, and heaven forbid we should look like a couple of hicks from District Twelve.

To make it worse, I got to listen to my prep team prattle on about how they love weddings, and how beautiful I'm going to look by the time they get through. I can usually tolerate them. They're not very bright after all, and they mean well. But today I just wasn't in the mood. I did my best to tune them out, and outright ignored them whenever they spoke to me. They just chalked up my behavior to pre-wedding jitters. Yeah, I guess you can call it that.

As soon as I could politely break away from the crowd, I feigned a headache and came straight to my compartment. I've been in here for the majority of the trip, resisting the urge to break things. Peeta checks on me every now and then, and my mother and Prim bring me food, but I'm not hungry. They've all been gracious enough to respect my wish to be left alone.

Our families, of course, were invited. Peeta's mother didn't come. His father says it's because they can't afford to close the bakery for three days, but I suspect the real reason has something to do with the fact that he's about to tie the knot with Seam trash. I don't care. Even Peeta agrees that the last thing we need is that insufferable witch making things worse. Like that's even possible.

Gale, who is thought to be my cousin, also declined the invite. He's stopped talking to me.

It's dusk when the train has to stop for fuel, and I take advantage of the opportunity to get some fresh air. I step off the train and, unwilling to look back, I let my feet carry me as far as they will. No need to worry about becoming stranded. No such luck. They'll send someone to find me when it's time.


	2. Chapter 2

After putting a considerable distance between myself and the train, I become aware of the sound of footsteps running to catch up. Haymitch, probably. I keep walking, not even bothering to turn and face him.

"What?" I hiss through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry about all this."

The voice belongs to Peeta, and it's colored with a tone of such sadness and regret that I've never heard from him. I turn, and immediately soften at the morose expression on his face. "I should have never started the star-crossed lover thing," he says.

"You did it to save my life," I reply, all venom gone from my voice. "And then I played the very same card to save yours. How could we have known the Gamemakers were going to toss the rules back and forth?"

"How could we _not_ have known?" Peeta shoots back. "We should have seen that coming a mile away."

I throw my arms around his neck and sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. "I'm scared, Peeta. Snow is going to force us to have children. I know it! And then he's going to rig the reapings as soon as they're old enough. The reapings are the very reason I never wanted to get married in the first place. To anyone. Ever." My eyes sting as I continue. "If I didn't have my mother and Prim to think about, I'd take my own life to keep all this from happening."

Peeta rubs my back as I try to calm down. "I'll never let you do that. I'll never let any of that happen. We'll figure this out."

"How, Peeta?" I push out of his arms and look him in the eye. "How are we going to stop it? In case you didn't notice, we're on our way to the President's Mansion to get _married. _How are we _not_ proving to Snow we're his puppets?"

His silence tells me he has no real answer. I sink helplessly to the ground, and place my hands over my head, as if to protect it from falling debris. It's a futile attempt to hide from the world, to will this nightmare to end. But the whistle of the train, signaling time for departure, is a cruel reminder that this isn't something I'll wake from. This is real, and in a minute, I'll have to rejoin the world.

Why couldn't I have just died in the arena?

Peeta sits down next to me. "How do you feel about me, Katniss?"

I look up from my imaginary hole. "What?"

"I'm sorry to be so blunt, but we don't have a lot of time, and this might be our last chance at privacy."

"Does it matter?" I ask. "You're getting what you've always wanted."

I can't believe I just said that! I shouldn't be taking this out on him. The biting pain of my harsh words is clear on Peeta's face. He stands up and walks away.

"Wait!" I go after him. "I didn't mean that. I know you don't like this any more than I do."

Peeta turns to face me. "I hate it, Katniss." He's yelling now, and his voice sounds as though he's losing a battle with tears. "I absolutely hate it! If we weren't being bullied into this marriage, I could deal with you not loving me. I could try to move on. But I don't have that option anymore." He takes a deep breath, probably an attempt to keep sobs at bay, before continuing. "I don't want to be stuck like my parents. That's why my family is so messed up."

A long silence follows, broken only by the nighttime noises around us. Off in the distance, an owl hoots.

My gaze falls to the ground. "I don't know how we can fix this."

He takes my hands in his. "We're in this together, aren't we?" I nod. "And if we're to have a prayer of getting through it, we need to stop yelling at each other and have an honest talk while we're not being bugged." Peeta looks toward the train as it whistles again. "Which is right now."

He does make a good point. We learned on the Victory Tour the consequences of keeping things from each other. "All right," I say. "Let's talk."

I'm not adequately dressed for the brisk night air. I rub my hands up and down my arms as a chill sends tremors through my body. "Here." Peeta takes off his jacket and holds it open for me. I slide my arms through the sleeves. "Thanks."

"After the Games, you said that not everything that happened in the arena was an act."

"It wasn't," I say. "Not all of it. I mean, I did ham it up a little, but...there were times when...I mean..." All I can seem to do is stumble over my words. This is so hard for me to talk about. Finally, I stop trying to explain things, and just say, "You mean a lot to me, Peeta."

He allows a smile. I'm not sure if it's because of what I said, or because he's amused by my lack of verbal ability. "And what about Gale?" he asks. "Do you love him?"

I'm taken aback by this question. "Why are you bringing him up?"

"I just need to know," he says. "I need to know if we have anything going for us, or if your heart will always belong to someone else. Just be honest. I can take it."

Do Peeta and I have anything going for us? He once took a beating to feed me when I was starving. He was my ally in the arena, willing to risk his own life to save mine. Even now, we are each other's refuge from the terrors that descend at night. That ought to count for something.

And I did feel something for him during that time we spent in the cave. Something I tried to repress. Something I've been trying ever since to sort out. But if I hadn't been so dead set against that kind of love, or so worried about how my performance was affecting Gale, or so focused on pleasing the audience, could I have actually fallen in love with Peeta?

Maybe.

And all Peeta is asking is a chance to try to win me over. Because, like it or not, this wedding is going to happen. There's no backing out of it. I might as well let him woo me. If I did that, it would be a small victory over Snow.

"Or I can back off," Peeta says, pulling me out of my reverie, "and we'll just be roommates. I'm not trying to push."

The train whistles for a third time. It must be the final call, but neither Peeta or I make a move to head back. I take Peeta's face in my hands, and gently kiss his lips. "I don't want you to back off. Let's see if there's...anything we can build on."

"All right." He slides his arms around me and kisses the top of my head, which is resting on his chest. And for the first time today, I actually crack a genuine smile.

We stand there for a long time, locked in our embrace. Peeta's arms have always been a source of comfort for me, and feeling them around me now somehow gives me the courage to face whatever Snow dishes out. He's right. We're in this together. Just like in the arena. I was wrong to try to bear this burden alone.

"Here comes the search party," Peeta says after a short while. I turn around to see Haymitch staggering toward us.

"There you two are," he yells in slurred speech. "You kids about ready? Miss Punctuality is starting to get real unpleasant."

"We're coming." Peeta takes my hand, and we head back. But he stops me just as we're about to step onto the train. "Can you promise me something?"

"Anything," I say.

He brings his lips to my ear and whispers, "I don't want you to tell me you love me off-camera until you're ready."

I give his hand a squeeze. "I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm a little friendlier the next morning. It helps that Peeta stayed with me last night. If there's anything good coming out of this mess, it's that I'll have him with me on a nightly basis.

With us getting married, the Capitol doesn't feel it necessary for us to each have our own house in the Victor's Village, so they will be taking one of them back. This is actually standard protocol when two Victors get married, which has been known to happen, particularly in the Career Districts, where there are so many. They left it up to us to decide who would be giving up their house, and since I've never liked the Victor's Village, I immediately volunteered without a second thought.

The original intent was that I would stay with my family, and only be married on paper. However, my actions proved to be a bit rash. Haymitch pointed out that the Peacekeepers may be reporting my whereabouts to Snow, which leaves me no choice but to live with Peeta. And, although they never let on about it, I could tell my mother and Prim were disappointed to be put back in the Seam. They've gotten used to all the modern conveniences that the mansion has to offer. I made amends by promising to build them a new house close to town with a telephone, clothes washing machine, and all the kitchen appliances. We all agree that most of the stuff, like the push-button shampoos and the body-drying floor mat in the bathroom, aren't all that necessary.

Effie Trinket's proficiency at event planning proves to be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, we only have to spend two days in the Capitol. On the other hand, so much is packed into those two days that I have to wonder if she's aware a day is only twenty-four hours long. Unfortunately, I have to play nice, because of the stupid cameras.

The marathon begins as soon as we arrive in the Capitol, and are immediately whisked off to dancing lessons.

"Is this really necessary, Effie," I grumble. "We learned to dance for the Victory Tour."

"Your family wasn't on the Tour," she reminds me. "Besides, that was a different occasion, entirely. You need to learn how to dance for a wedding."

I didn't realize there was a difference. Back home, a party is a party. Same music, same dancing.

Next comes the rehearsal, where we are given a brief respite from the cameras. Since the real thing is tomorrow, nobody is really interested in seeing the practice session. Small favors.

We learn where we're supposed to stand, what we're supposed to say and when. Everything is going smoothly, until the officiant asks for rings. That's when Effie nearly blows a gasket.

"What do you mean you don't have any rings?"

"I guess I didn't get the memo, Effie," Peeta says. His tone is light and playful on the surface, but underneath, I can tell he's working to keep his cool. "It's not something we do back home."

"It's no big deal," I say. "It's just a ring. We can do without."

"It's a very big deal," Effie says. "This is a Capitol wedding. Everybody who's anybody is going to be there. You're going to be on television. Everything must go off without a hitch." And the next thing I know, she's calling for a car to take us to a jewelry store. Will this nightmare never end?

I plead to Haymitch. "Is she serious?" Effie has enjoyed a free pass with the planning, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I refuse to go out of my way for a piece of jewelry that could probably feed the half the starving people in my district. And this where I expect Haymitch to side with her. Tell me it would be less painful to slog patiently through the next couple of days and I'd be home before I know it. But, he surprises me.

"They have an interview to get ready for," he tells her. "The schedule is tight enough as it is."

_Thank you, Haymitch!_ I think. Nothing gets to Effie like the _S_ word. After some discussion, we come to a compromise. Effie will loan us suitable substitutes from her own collection. We will return them after the ceremony.

I thought the privilege of being Bridezilla belonged to me.

The main event of the day is a televised interview with Caesar Flickerman, who is sporting a bright pink suit, and a lavender pompadour. I conjure up my perkiest smile and take the stage on Peeta's arm, thankful that I have him here to carry the show. I'm completely spent.

Caesar begins with a video recap of our romance, starting with Peeta's on-air confession. Then it goes into clips from the Games—Peeta fighting off Cato to protect me, me shouting his name after the rule change, going to look for him, nursing him back to health. When they show me pounding on the glass as Peeta is being operated on, I'm overwhelmed as I remember how close I came to losing him.

Then there's the Victory Tour, and kissing, kissing, kissing. Apparently, that's all we ever do. Finally, the video ends with Peeta's proposal.

"Does that not just move you to tears?" Caesar asks the audience. They respond with a collective sigh.

He then turns to us. "So, you're getting married in the traditional Capitol fashion." We both nod. "How does that differ from a wedding back home?"

"It's nothing like back home," Peeta says. And then we dive into a contrast between a District Twelve wedding, versus one in the Capitol.

Getting married in District Twelve is a simple affair. It doesn't require months of planning like this one did. There are no big decisions to be made like what kind of flowers, or color scheme, or decorations. We don't send out invitations on fancy stationery. We don't have bridesmaids or groomsmen—roles that Prim and Peeta's brothers will fill tomorrow. We pretty much just fill out legal paperwork and have friends and family at our new house for a meal.

But the most important part of the ceremony comes after everybody goes home. It's a ritual called a toasting, where the couple lights their first fire, and toasts some bread to share. It isn't until the toasting that the couple truly feels like husband and wife.

We spend the rest of the interview talking about our families' first taste of the Capitol. The cameras zoom in on Prim, sitting in the audience, so that everybody can meet the sister I volunteered for. She gives a shy smile and waves timidly, but recoils at the sudden attention. She doesn't like it any more than I do.

After an eternity, Caesar finally bids us good night, and I can stop simpering like a fool.


	4. Chapter 4

I never thought I'd be so happy to be at the Training Center, but after such a busy day, the relative quiet of our old apartment is delectable.

After dinner, I take Prim up to the roof. She is amazed by the view, but is careful to stand back from the railing.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about falling," I tell her. "Watch this." I pick a stone from the garden and toss it at the force field. She gasps as it bounces back. "I'm sure there's no need to explain why that's there."

"It's not hard to figure out," she says.

I stare out at the bright city lights. In the distance, the President's Mansion dominates the cityscape. It is there where, in less than twenty-four hours, I will become Peeta's wife. How perverse is that? Being coerced into marriage, in a ceremony too extravagant for my taste, hundreds of miles from home, at the house of the very person I'm trying to protect my family from.

Prim puts her hand on my shoulder. I reach up and give it a squeeze. That's when I notice she's a lot taller than she used to be. She's growing up, too fast for my liking. Hardship has a way of doing that to children.

"You'll be all right, Katniss," she says consolingly. "I know the way things have happened between you and Peeta has left you confused, but I also can see that you love him. You just haven't figured it out for yourself yet."

I just smile weakly. "Well, if enough people are saying it, it must be true, right?" I don't have the heart to tell her that the way I feel about Peeta is the least of my worries.

"But they don't know you like I do, do they?" she says. "You didn't have to save his life in the arena, you know. You were doing just fine without him."

"To be honest, I'm not sure why I did it," I tell her. "But I think it was out of selfishness. I knew I'd be blacklisted back home if I didn't try."

"No." Prim shakes her head. "I saw the way you reacted to the announcement. You weren't thinking,_ if I don't team up with Peeta, everybody at home will hate me._"

"Well...no, not at that precise moment," I admit. "But it did occur to me."

"So it was an afterthought," she says. "That doesn't make you selfish. I remember how despondent you were after Rue got killed. It took a great effort for you to do so much as sit up. But then, when the rules changed, the opportunity to track Peeta down snapped you right out of it. You were eager to find him. And when you finally did, you didn't put some half-hearted effort into saving him so that you could say, _'Well, I tried.'_ You did everything you could for him."

"Yeah, I sure did," I retort. "Right down to setting him up for a huge letdown."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Katniss," she says. "I could tell when you were being genuine, and I stand by what I said."

"There's a difference between loving someone and caring whether they live or die," I counter.

"Oh, really?" A devilish grin spreads across her face. "And is that why you can't keep your eyes off him? Because you _care_?"

"What?"

She laughs. "Don't play dumb with me, Katniss. The way you watched him sketch for the plant book. And all those times at school. Didn't think I noticed, did you?"

I feel my face turn beet red. Was I that obvious? I wonder if anyone else noticed—or maybe _everyone_ else—and the thought mortifies me. "Okay, you got me. I was looking in his general direction, therefore I'm hopelessly in love. It's nice to see the little girl who begged to look at the cakes in the bakery window is still in there somewhere."

The sound of approaching footsteps echos from the hallway. "This topic is closed," I demand.

A moment later, Peeta appears in the doorway. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, I was just showing Prim around." I toss another stone at the force field.

"I'm going in now," Prim says. "It's freezing up here!" And then she's gone.

Peeta takes my hand and leads me to the garden swing. I curl up next to him and throw my legs across his lap. He covers us both with his jacket and sways us back and forth.

"I'm sorry for the way I've acted," I say.

"You have every right to be upset," he replies. "I actually think I'm starting to understand you a little better, now."

I look up at him. "How do you mean?"

The wind up here is loud enough to ensure that our conversation won't be overheard, but Peeta lowers his voice for good measure. "You were confused after the Games last year." I nod. "And I assumed it was just because of your feelings for Gale. But what you said last night, about never wanting to marry at all, made me realize you've also been dealing with your own aversion."

"That's exactly right," I say. But I feel I need to explain further. "I never thought about Gale that way before the Games. And ever since, I've tried to sort out how I feel about both of you. And it didn't matter, anyway, because nothing would ever come of it. At least, it wasn't supposed to. But that was before the Victory Tour. And now..." I trail off. Peeta waits patiently while I collect my thoughts. "What you said last night about your parents being unhappy hit a nerve." I stop again. Putting my feelings—particularly deeply personal feelings—into words doesn't come as naturally to me as it does for Peeta. I swallow hard and I stammer through the rest of my speech.

"I've been fighting tooth and nail ever since the paperwork came, but that has only made things worse. And...I don't want to make you miserable. Especially since...especially since I probably _could_ love you. So...since there's no stopping this wedding...we might as well...we might as well be a real couple. All the time. On and off camera."

Peeta laughs. "You know, you're really cute when you're trying to be articulate."

"Oh, bite me," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Well, since we're officially a '_real couple_' now, does that mean I'm allowed to tell you I love you?" he asks. "Or would that be too weird for you? Because I'm warning you, you'd be hearing it a lot."

I smile at him. "I'll allow it."

"All right." He leans in toward me. Taken by surprise, I back up just a little. He stops when his face is just inches from mine. "And am I allowed to kiss you?" A loud cackle escapes my lips as I'm reminded of the day I found him in the arena. _"How about that kiss?"_ he'd said jokingly. I was in the midst of draining puss from his infected wound, and he could see I was struggling to keep my breakfast down. Yeah. A kiss would have been awesome.

"That depends." I push him away playfully. "Do you promise to bake me fresh cheese buns for breakfast every morning?"

"I think something can be arranged." Flirty Peeta. I kind of like it.

"Then get over here." I pull him by the collar of his shirt and bring my lips to his.

I feel that thing again. That familiar stirring within my chest. Kissing is nothing new for Peeta and me, but what a difference it makes to do it because we want to, and not out of obligation. No cameras around. No audience to please. Just him and me. At this moment, it's easy to forget my fears. Maybe being married to Peeta won't be so bad.

It's Peeta who breaks us up a moment later. "Can we have a toasting?"

"A toasting?"

"Not right away, but eventually," he says. "When you're ready."

I understand what he's asking. His request dovetails perfectly with the one he made last night. When I'm ready, meaning when my feelings for him are no longer clouded by uncertainty, and I can tell him I love him and mean it, he wants to seal our union with our own marriage ritual. "Sure," I say. "We can do that. But..."

"But what?" he asks.

"It could be a while."

Peeta smiles. "I can wait."

I lay my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes. For a long time, the only sounds to be heard are the howling of the wind, and the tinkling of the chimes hanging above us. It's very relaxing, as I snuggle against Peeta, cocooned in his warmth. Very relaxing...

"Hey, Katniss." Peeta's voice startles me. Did I doze off? I must have been too relaxed.

I look up. His expression is serious, now. "Yeah?"

He puts his lips to my ear. "Do you really think Snow is going to make us have kids?"

"He has something up his sleeve, Peeta," I whisper back. My voice is so low he probably has to read my lips to know what I'm saying. "That's why we're here. He knows this wedding isn't going to quiet the districts. Things are a lot worse now than they were on the Victory Tour. I think the best we can hope for is a reasonable amount of time before he starts threatening our family. And then it's..."

Peeta finishes it for me. "And then it's either watch them die, or our own children someday."

Tears well up in my eyes.

"Come here." He pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head. And for that moment, I try to forget about everything but the comfort of his arms around me.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing I'm aware of the next morning is Peeta's body wrapped around mine, shielding me against the blast of arctic air coming through the window. He likes to sleep with the window open, and as long as he keeps me warm, I have no objections. It's mid-May, well into spring, but here in the high mountain climate of the Capitol...

The Capitol! The realization hits me like a wrecking ball. It's _that_ day.

My eyes flutter open. "I'm getting married today," I whisper to the ceiling.

My mother once told me that, on her wedding day, her stomach was full of butterflies. I envy her. I'm pretty sure what I have are hornets. I turn my head slightly to see that Peeta is already awake, his blue eyes gazing at me. "Hey," I say, my voice husky with sleep.

"Hey." He lightly kisses my forehead. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," I reply. "You?"

"Terrified."

"But this is normal," I say. "Everybody feels this way. Right?"

Peeta shakes his head. "My father didn't."

I cock an eyebrow at him.

"But afterward, he kept saying, 'What have I done?'"

I laugh out loud at the anecdote, but I think it's brought on by jitters more than actual amusement. "Really, Peeta. How on earth were you ever born?"

He shrugs. "That's a good question. My guess is alcohol was a factor."

I recall something he said during our conversation the other night. "Why do you say your family is messed up?" I ask him. "Your father and brothers. You all seem to get along okay."

It's true. Peeta's description doesn't really match the harmonious bunch my family and I have spent time with during the last few days. Joking around during meal times. The off-color ribbings Peeta has received from his brothers about...about the wedding night. And Gale and I have been trading with the baker for years. Aside from my father, he's probably the kindest man I've ever known.

"That's because my mother isn't around," he says. "She didn't want to marry my father, didn't want to run the bakery, never got her coveted daughter. She's very bitter about all of it, and she takes it out on us. And she's always on us about the budget. It causes a lot of tension, and we all end up fighting. Believe me, Katniss, this is a vacation for them."

"She didn't want to marry your father?" I know it's none of my business, but I'm curious.

"Well, I don't know the details, but...we've done the math. My brother was born six months after they were married."

"Ah-ha." Shotgun wedding. Yeah, that'll do it.

"That's one of the reasons I was so drawn to you," he says. "Seeing the way you and Prim interacted at school, I was envious. I wasn't the least bit surprised when you volunteered for her."

Huh. I've wondered what it was he saw in me. I know it was my singing voice that had him hooked, but I had a hard time believing that was enough to sustain an eleven-year crush.

We are interrupted by a rapid knock at the door. "Katniss, dear!" And there she is. Good ol' Effie Trinket, here to let me know...

"It's going to be a big, big, big day!" Peeta and I mouth the words to each other as she calls them through the door. Then break out into a fit of snickers.

"I'm coming!" I holler back. I sit up and stretch, allowing a thunderous yawn to bellow through the air. I hope Effie can hear it. "Well, I guess we'd better get out there, or face her wrath."

"Yeah," Peeta says. "Wait till she finds out I'm on the wrong floor."

"Oh, I can guarantee Miss Etiquette will have something to say about the groom having so much _access_ to the bride prior to the wedding," I say.

Because there aren't enough bedrooms on a single floor of the Training Center, Peeta's family was put one below, on the eleventh. Effie really liked that arrangement. She didn't approve of Peeta and me sleeping together on the Victory Tour. But, after everything I've been through in the past year, I'm so far beyond caring what other people think about my sleeping arrangements with my fiancé. And, unless Snow holds a gun to my head, that _thing_ Effie suspects Peeta and I are doing is right up there with my I-love-you and the toasting. It's going to wait until I'm ready. And, I know Peeta would agree. We haven't talked about it, but I know him well enough to know he wouldn't want anything in the way of physical intimacy unless he knows I requite his feelings. And, as I said last night, that could take a while.

I walk Peeta to the door. He kisses me lightly on the lips. "Well...see you soon," he says, and turns to leave.

"Wait." I take him by the arm and pull him back toward me. I take his face in my hands and bring his lips to mine. This time, with a little more passion. "See you soon." I say. He walks away, sporting a triumphant grin.

"You can do this," I tell myself. But as I make my way to the closet, my feet feel like lead. In the last forty-eight hours, I've miraculously managed to make peace with the fact that I have to get married, and even take comfort in the fact that, at the very least, the groom is Peeta, of all people. He's been my rock through everything since the Games—the nightmares, the interviews, the Victory Tour. But the fact still remains that I'm not doing this by choice.

I throw on the first outfit my hands touch and join my mother and sister for breakfast. They try to get me to eat, but all I can manage is a few bites of a muffin. The knots in my stomach have taken over relentlessly.

Afterward, the three of us are taken by car to the President's Mansion, where we are all placed in the hands of my prep team. Since my mother and Prim are part of the wedding party, they get spend the next few hours being fussed over, too. And they have no idea how lucky they have it! They're only receiving simple hair and makeup jobs today. Nothing like the abuse I usually have to take. But since I was tarred and feathered before the trip, it should be an easy day for all of us.

"Oh, Katniss, your sister is an absolute doll," squeals Octavia, as she coats Prim's nails with a pale pink polish.

"Yes, I've always thought so," I say, barely able to keep my voice from cracking. I smile at Prim, who is clearly enjoying herself. If she only knew what Octavia is capable of.

"And your mother cleans up so nicely," says Venia. My mother looks slightly affronted by the comment, but Venia is right. This is just about the prettiest I've ever seen her. I hear she used to be quite beautiful.

I'm glad of family's company. Their presence is the only thing keeping me from coming apart at the seams. But with every tick of the clock, the jitters get worse, and by the time Cinna arrives with our dresses, my knees are shaking so badly that it takes the collective effort of him, Prim, and my mother to dress me. When I finally do manage to stagger into the diamond-encrusted gown, I can barely hold myself up. They lead me to a chair, where I slump forward, burying my face in my hands.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't...

"Just relax," Prim says. "Breathe with me. Inhale...exhale..."

I focus on her face as she guides me through the exercises. One look at her is all I need to remind me why I have to do this. For her. For my mother. For everybody I love.

I wonder how Peeta is holding up.

Peeta. The boy with the bread. My ally in the arena. My refuge from the nightmares. The thought of him is all I need to remind me why I _can_ do this.

I stand up slowly. My knees are still knocking, but I think I have a handle on myself.

"Are you going to be okay?" Cinna asks. I answer with a resolute nod. He sets the headpiece, and my mother gets my shoes.

Too soon, Effie comes to escort us to the courtyard where Peeta and I will...I swallow hard. We walk through a series of ornate corridors, until we come to a set of double doors. There, Haymitch is waiting for us.

I look out the window at the layout. A dozen rows of chairs—mostly occupied by complete strangers—are arranged on either side of a long aisle. At the end of the aisle stands an arched lattice adorned with all manner of flowers. Under the lattice, with the officiant, stands Peeta. If he's nervous, it doesn't show. He takes everything so much better than I do. His brothers are up there with him, standing off to the side.

So much pomp. It's so much simpler back home.

Effie lines us up in the order that we're to walk out. She gives the word, and two ushers pull the doors open simultaneously.

"You first, Mrs. Everdeen," Effie says. When my mother is halfway down the aisle, Prim takes her cue.

"We're next, Sweetheart," Haymitch says, offering me his arm. "And smile. This is the happiest day of your life."

I put on the most dazzling smile I can muster. And when Effie gives the word, Haymitch escorts me down the aisle.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm not present for the ceremony. Not really. I mean, I'm there. But I'm just going through the motions. Looking happy. Holding Peeta's hand. Exchanging vows and rings. When I decided to commit to Peeta, I meant it. Wholeheartedly. But this dog and pony show is just something devised by Snow to accomplish his own sick end. It means nothing to me. Even the kiss at the end isn't real. It doesn't feel anything like the one from last night. It's just another thing for the audience to gush over.

The officiant instructs us to face the crowd. "I am pleased to present Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, now husband and wife!"

Everyone cheers as we walk back down the aisle. The minute we're in the hallway, Effie whisks us away for pictures. It's a lengthy ordeal, and I'm sure the plastic smile I've been wearing for the last two days will become a permanent fixture. To make it even more painful, I'm now paying for skipping breakfast. I wonder if the photographer can hear my stomach begging for food. I'm sure Peeta can.

But we don't get to eat as soon as the shoot ends. When we get to the banquet hall, our arrival is announced over a loudspeaker. It's time for our first dance. Peeta takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. The musicians put on a slow melody, and Peeta and I sway back and forth as our wedding guests—mostly complete strangers—gawk.

"Are you okay?" he asks me, which makes me worry that my happy act is slipping.

"Do I look unhappy?" I try to smile bigger.

"No." He lowers his voice. "But I know you're not exactly thrilled about all this."

I sigh heavily, and momentarily let my face fall. It's a relief to be able to be honest with Peeta. "I'm ready to get on the train. I think I'll be better when we get home." My stomach lets out a primal roar. "And, I'm starving. How about you? Are you...okay?"

"Better, since we talked," he says. There is a brief pause, then he adds, "This is weird, isn't it? Being married."

"Yeah."

"So, what happens now?"

What, indeed. We never had an actual courtship, and didn't talk about our marriage until we had to jump in with both feet. So, what does happen now? How do we start out this next chapter of our crazy relationship?

I shrug. "We go home, and try to make things as normal as possible, I guess. You get back to baking, and I'll..."

I'll what? I can't hunt anymore. Ever since the day I got stuck outside the fence, I won't dare risk going back into the woods. I've lost my hunting partner, besides, and my family no longer depends on me for food, so there's really no reason to.

And now, here I am, married. Married, stinking rich, no longer hunting, and no longer Gale's friend. A year ago, I never would have imagined any of it. At least I'm allowed to keep my name. It may be all I have left by the time the Capitol is through chipping away at me.

Peeta brings me out of my reverie. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you." I crane my neck to kiss him on the cheek.

By the time the song ends, I'm completely ravenous. Peeta and I make our way to one of the many tables of food. Or...we try to. But every few steps someone gets in our faces to offer their congratulations. And we have to be gracious, because many of these people sponsored us in the Games. And with this year being the Quarter Quell, we'll definitely be needing them again. The Games are horrible enough during normal years. Who knows what a Gamemaker can come up with when given the chance to make the arena more deadly than usual. They have such diabolical imaginations. I think of Cato's gruesome end. The thought of it getting worse than that sends chills down my spine.

It's Peeta's middle brother who comes to our rescue with a plate of finger foods for each of us. "Thank you," I practically snatch it from him. I wolf it down, not caring who sees.

"This is some party," he says. "Were they expecting more people? All this food is just gonna go to waste."

"You have no idea how right you are." Peeta says. He points to the table with the pretty little flutes of vomit-inducing liquid. "Stay away from that table."

A quizzical look crosses his brother's face.

"Just trust me, okay? You don't want to find out the hard way."

"Oh-kay." His brother doesn't know what to make of the cryptic answer, but seems to heed his advice.

The rest of the evening is a ceaseless round of forced conversation with people who, according to Effie, it would be an atrocity to ignore. And all these people want to talk about is the Quell. Peeta and I try to change the subject. To talk about anything else. I actually almost succeed with a lady named Calpurnia who has an interest in archery. But no matter what, the subject always comes back to the stupid Quell. Everyone is so excited about it. How on earth do they not see the Games for what they really are? It's mind-boggling!

Eventually, I get to the point where I can't take it anymore. "I'm sorry. I've got to go. Restroom."

Peeta gives me a worried look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I drank some of the..." I give a dismissive wave toward the table with the puke juice, so that nobody will become concerned and try to follow me. "I'll be back." I make a mad dash toward the hallway, in search of a place to hide, finding my salvation in a broom closet. It's a little cramped, but it's far less stuffy than the banquet hall.

I manage one deep breath before there's a knock at the door.

"Katniss!" It's Peeta's voice. I didn't realize he'd followed me, but I'm not surprised. He knew I was lying about being sick. Like I would actually drink that stuff. I pull him inside. There's barely room for just me, let alone both of us, but somehow, we manage to pull the door shut. "This doesn't look like the restroom to me," he says.

"I needed a break," I whisper. "Those people are absolutely insufferable!"

"I agree," he replies. "But we won't have to put up with them much longer."

"Long enough."

"You know, the press would have a field day if they caught us in here." It's too dark to see his face, but his voice takes on that playful, flirty tone from last night.

I snort. "Why? Because a couple of newlyweds are hiding in a closet? It's hardly a scandal. Besides, it's not like we're mak—"

Suddenly Peeta's lips are on mine, doing the very thing I was about to claim isn't happening. "I figure if we're going to run the risk of getting caught, we might as well give them something to talk about."

"Good point." I pull him back in, and pick up where we left off. Peeta's hands snake up my arms and around my neck, causing my heart to flutter. This is so much more fun when there are no cameras around.

I'm not sure how long we stay in there, but I almost forget why I was in such a hurry to get away. Almost. It's Peeta who stops to remind me. "We really do need to get back, before they start missing us."

"If we must," I groan.

Peeta sticks his head out the door. "The coast is clear." I take his arm and drag my feet back to the banquet hall, but we spend the rest of the evening on the dance floor to avoid more talk of the Quell. Besides, it would be a shame to not put yesterday's lessons to use.

After what seems like an eternity, Effie informs us that it's time to say goodnight. She escorts us to the main entrance of the mansion, at the City Circle. By now, the sun is hanging low in the western sky, and the temperature, which accommodated our outdoor ceremony this afternoon, has turned cold again.

"Smile and wave," she instructs. "This is for the front page."

We do as she says, and the cameras give their final assault. I hope Peeta can see, because I'm half blind. But he doesn't seem to be having trouble, so I just take his arm and trust him to guide me down the steps. I can feel perfectly good rice hitting us from all sides. Here in the Capitol, it's supposed to symbolize fertility or something, but to me, it's just more food being wasted. A car waits at the bottom to take us to the train station. Finally!

When we get there, Haymitch and the rest of our family are assembled in the parlor car. Their eyes are glued to the television. Caesar Flickerman is running through the highlights of the day.

Peeta loosens his bow tie. "Why are you watching a recap of the wedding? You were just there."

"President's going to make an announcement," Haymitch explains.

"We only heard about it a few minutes ago," the baker adds. "Something about the Quarter Quell. You two'd better stick around."

"Reading of the card, probably," Haymitch says, nonchalantly, but his expression is marred with concern and suspicion.

And with good reason. The reading of the card. Tonight. Our wedding night. The circumstances stink like a dead man in July. My heart starts to pound so hard, I'm sure it's audible.

Snow takes the stage, accompanied by a boy carrying a wooden box. He runs through a long-winded explanation of the significance of the Quell. How, every twenty-five years, there is a special twist to the Games to remind each new generation of the price Panem paid during the uprising seventy-five years ago, and why we must never let it happen again.

During the first Quell, the tributes were elected by the people of their districts. This was to serve as a reminder that children were dying because of the rebels' choice to initiate violence. During the second, the year Haymitch won, twice the number of tributes were reaped as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen. I clinch my fists. The way he uses death to justify more death makes my blood boil.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell." The boy with the box steps forward and holds the lid open. President Snow pulls out a large envelope marked with the number seventy-five.

"Here it is!" Haymitch turns up the volume.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," he reads, "as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Someone turns off the television. All eyes in the room fall on Peeta and me. All jaws drop. Everybody is stunned into silence.

"Well, there you have it," I finally say, breaking the silence. "I knew he had an agenda."


	7. Chapter 7

_This chapter runs kind of long. It was originally two, but I decided it best to combine them, rather than drag the story out until it gets good (and, I promise, it's about to, if you'll just bear with me)._

_Thank you all for the kind reviews. Your support means a lot._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Prim calmly steps toward me and takes my hand. "Come on, Katniss," she says. "Let's get you out of that dress." She guides me down the hall, gesturing Peeta to follow.

Meanwhile, my mother has taken off in a different direction.

We go to my compartment and she sits me on the bed.

"What's is it?" Peeta asks, not quite sure what to make of her actions.

"She's about to lose it," Prim says. "Mom is getting something to calm her." It's amazing how well my mother and Prim work together. Like Gale and me during a hunt, their minds are in perfect sync with one another. They get the job done seamlessly, communicating almost telepathically.

And Prim, I realize, is right. Just as Peeta shuts the door, I begin to hyperventilate. I appreciate her for not letting it happen in front of the others. Even in front of her and Peeta, I'm a little embarrassed about it.

"Find her something to change into," Prim orders. Peeta hurriedly fumbles through the drawers while Prim, like before the wedding, guides me through breathing exercises. Hard to believe it was just this morning. It seems like ages.

Peeta sits next to me, nightgown in hand. "W-what...are we...gonna...do?" I manage between heaves.

He rubs my back awkwardly. "Just concentrate on breathing right now, Katniss."

I return my focus to Prim and do as she instructs, slowly getting my breathing under control. My mother enters the room and hands me a cup. Tea, or something. I hope it's laced with something strong. I drink it gratefully, wanting nothing more at this moment, than to escape this nightmare.

* * *

The next thing I know, the compartment is dark. I'm in my nightgown, and my hair has been taken down. Peeta is sleeping next to me, with an arm draped across my torso. I'm not sure how long I've been out, but it feels like hours.

Then, the memory comes crashing down. Why it was necessary to sedate me. Snow's announcement of the Quell.

I'm going back into the arena.

My chest begins to tighten again, and my breathing starts to speed up. _Get a grip, Katniss! _If I'm to have any hope of surviving the arena a second time...

And then it dawns on me: I'm not meant to survive a second time. That's why Victors are being reaped this year. To make sure I end up back in there, and die, like I was supposed to last year.

And how could I even think of surviving? Because I know Peeta. He's going back in there with me—he'll volunteer if Haymitch is reaped—and my survival will mean his death. The thought of that sends a pang through me that cuts straight to my core. I don't want to lose the boy with the bread. Peeta has to live. That will be my mission.

Now that I think about it, I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome. Because, how many times since Snow's visit have I wished I'd just died in the arena? And now, I'm getting the chance to correct that. And, with my death, Snow's vengeance against me will, hopefully, also die. My family will be safe, and, Peeta and I won't be forced to have children that will someday face a rigged reaping. Maybe the Peacekeeping force in the district will even return to normal. It's a long shot, but it can't get any worse. Not without me there to cause trouble.

And at least this time, I can get my affairs in order. Unlike last year, I have the time and resources to make sure my mother and Prim will be okay without me.

But first thing's first. I have to talk to Haymitch.

Slowly, careful not to rouse Peeta, I slink out of bed. I fumble through the dark until I locate a bathrobe and slippers and head to down the hall. I hesitate before I knock, wondering if the following conversation should even take place here, where it will most assuredly not be private. But it's not like we're hatching a plot to start the next revolt. I'm just going to talk Haymitch into letting me die. Hardly anything Snow can object to.

After several very insistent knocks, he finally opens the door. "Well, hello, Missus," he exclaims with mock excitement. "Nice face."

I'm not sure what he means about my face, but I don't have time to dwell on that right now. I have more urgent business to attend to. "We need to talk."

He lets out a heavy sigh and holds the door open. I brush past him, into his compartment. where the stench of alcohol is so concentrated, it's overpowering. But I ignore it and get right to the point. "It's Peeta's turn. This time, he lives."

"You kids sure don't make it easy on me," he grumbles. "The boy was here hours ago begging—"

"Yeah, yeah." I cut him off. "I'm sure Peeta has plans of his own. But, Haymitch, you have to know protecting me is a lost cause. Snow wants me dead. He planned this Quell specifically for me."

"Could be nobody gets out alive this year," Haymitch points out. "He's desperate to get the uprisings under control."

I catch sight of my reflection in the darkened window, and realize I'm still wearing my makeup. Only now, it's smeared all over my face. So that's what Haymitch meant. I return my focus to the matter at hand. "Please, Haymitch." I'm begging now. "We have to try. I'm not asking you to volunteer for him—"

Haymitch interrupts. "Even though, deep down, you know that's what you want."

Well, that's not what I was thinking at all, but now that he's mentioned it, it would be the ideal arrangement. I shake my head, feeling despicable for even briefly entertaining such a notion. "Just shift the sponsorship his way. Help him the way you helped me last year."

"Well, since you two'll be allied, you'll both be taking advantage of the sponsorship," he says.

"Okay, that's true enough, but it's not the point." If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to dodge the issue. "Are you going to help me, or not?"

His face falls as he weighs his options. I can only imagine the painful position he's in. But it's going to be painful no matter what. All I'm doing is presenting him with the most probable outcome. "All right," he finally relents. "I'll do what I can."

"Thank you." I turn to leave, but stop before reaching the door. "I don't understand something." I turn back around to face him. "If Snow was planning to just throw me back into the arena, then why did he insist on this wedding?"

"That's easy." He tosses back a huge swig of wine. "To discredit you."

"Discredit me?"

"You see, Sweetheart, you've become a sort of icon for the rebels," Haymitch explains. "They know it wasn't undying love for the boy that led you to whip out the berries, and yet you still ended up marrying him. Snow is presenting you as putty in his hands. Showing the rebels that what they're rallying behind is nothing more than a scared little girl who will do anything to save her own skin."

"Well, I'll show him." I cross my arms. "I'll show all of them. I'll get an annulment."

Haymitch shakes his head. "Bad idea."

"Why?" I ask. "What more can he do to me?"

"Think of your family," he says, "You don't want to do anything to evoke more wrath from Snow. Or, better yet, think of Peeta. If your objective is to save him, then I would strongly caution you against hurting him. I'm not sure what's going on between you two, but he's been kind of happy the last few days."

"You're right." My arms fall to my sides; my shoulders slump forward. My brief moment of defiance is extinguished.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"Just don't forget our agreement." I march out the door, back to my compartment.

* * *

Neither Peeta, nor I, mention our secret dealings with Haymitch, or our intentions to protect each other at the expense of our own lives, but we agree we can't sit around the next two months waiting for Reaping Day to arrive. We decide the best course of action is to train like the Careers, and suddenly, Peeta, the flirty romantic is replaced by Sergeant Peeta, the very demanding trainer. He wastes no time in creating a strict diet and exercise regimen for us to follow.

Our days begin with breakfast before dawn, followed by strength exercises until lunchtime. Then it's combat practice until dinnertime. The evenings are spent getting acquainted with our potential competition through their taped games. Haymitch offers whatever information he can regarding their fighting skills, strengths, and weaknesses, while Peeta takes extensive notes. Then, we go to bed and get to do it all again the next day.

And even though we all know Haymitch won't be going into the arena, Peeta doesn't let him off the hook. He insists that Haymitch take part in the workouts, and even goes as far as forcing him into sobriety. I fought Peeta on that point—Haymitch did, after all, manage to bring us both home last year—but lost. "This isn't just any Games," Peeta said. "It's the Quell, and we can't afford any drunkards on this team."

And that's how we spend the next two months. With Peeta and me becoming stronger and more adept, and Haymitch...staying sober.

Despite our demanding schedule, I do find time to attend to some personal business. I need to make sure my mother and Prim are taken care of when I'm gone, so the first thing I do is open a bank account for them, and transfer over what's left in my Victor's Account. Then, I get the ball rolling on their house.

After some thought, I decide I should help the Hawthorns as well. Gale and I may have had a falling out, but, the fact is, he played such a vital role in my survival for so long. And...I do still care about him.

But I have to be discreet about how I handle it. Leaving a bequest to my own family is one thing, but the Capitol doesn't look too favorably on acts of charity. If they found out I was using my winnings to help those in need, it would be trouble for everyone involved. It isn't enough that they have the Games to create resentment between the districts. They have to further divide us amongst ourselves with the unfair reaping system. I think of Gale, and his misdirected anger at Madge for not needing tesserae. This resentment is another way for the Capitol to maintain control. We wouldn't want the rich and the poor to start getting along, would we? We might unify against them.

So, over the next two months, I make cash withdrawals from my account, being very careful about both the amounts, and the intervals, so as not to attract unwanted attention. I stuff it into an envelope, which I plan to deliver before the Reaping. I wish I could do more, but this, at least, will keep them from being strapped if the Peacekeepers decide to close the mines again. And since Gale rejected the offer when I came home from the Games last year, I will take it to Hazelle. She'll accept it gratefully, and she'll know not to mention it to Gale.

I spend the last Sunday before Reaping Day with my family in the Seam. I'm in the backyard milking Lady when the approaching shadow of a human form causes me to jump. I look up, and there he is, standing over me. My jaw practically lands on the ground.

"Hey, Catnip." Gale smiles ruefully.

My shock quickly turns to bitterness. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you before...before you go."

I turn my attention back to Lady. "Thought you'd written me off. Said I sold myself out." I'm intentionally being stubborn. I'm actually kind of happy to see him. I just don't want him to know it.

"Give me a break," he says. "I didn't come here to start a fight. Can we go for a walk?"

I hesitate a moment. "Fine." I stand up, wipe my hands on my pants, and we set off down the road.

"I'm sorry for the things I said," he says, "and for cutting you off."

"I didn't marry Peeta to hurt you, you know" I say. "Snow threatened all of us."

"I know that," he says. "Now, are you going to accept my apology, or not?"

"Fine," I say. "Apology accepted." We continue on, not speaking. What can we say to each other? _"How's married life?" "How are things down in the mines?" "Anyone we know been arrested lately?"_ There isn't anything we can bring up that wouldn't be painful.

It's finally me who breaks the silence. "You'll look after my mother and Prim, won't you?"

"Of course I will," he promises. "Until you come home."

"Gale..." I grab him by the elbow and turn him toward me, making sure our eyes meet. "I'm not coming home. You understand that, don't you?"

"You might, if Peeta has anything to say about it. I try not to like the guy, but it's really hard, knowing he's going to do everything he can to protect you."

"Yeah, that he is." _And it's just going to make my job harder_, I think. My gaze falls to the ground. I kick a pebble, stirring up dirt in the process.

"Katniss, let him," Gale says, as though he can read my thoughts. Which, he has always sort of been able to do, I guess.

"You don't get it." I sigh in exasperation. "You and Peeta both. Snow wants me dead. If I am the last tribute standing, there will be no Victor."

"I just refuse to accept that."

I can't help but chuckle a little. "God, you're stubborn. Come here." I pull him toward me, and we embrace for the last time.

* * *

The next morning is the day of the Reaping. Peeta is not in the bed when I wake, but judging by the smells wafting through the air, I have a pretty good guess as to where I can find him. I go down to the kitchen, where he is pulling a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. On the table sits a plate of cheese buns. Bacon and eggs are cooking on the stove.

This is different. For the past two months, breakfast has consisted of whatever can be cooked up quickly, so that we could get on with our warm-up exercises. Peeta must have been up for hours preparing this spread.

"Good morning," he says in a wistful tone. He opens his arms to me, which I eagerly accept.

"Hey," I reply. "What is all this?"

"I was going to bring it to you in bed," he says.

An idea pops into my head. "Let's take it up to the balcony. Watch the sunrise."

"All right." Peeta smiles, but his eyes are sad.

Together, we carry the food back up to our bedroom, where a pair of double doors opens up to a furnished balcony. I don't particularly like the Victor's Village. To me, it only serves as a constant reminder of the Games. But there is one thing it does right: the view of the mountains to the east, where the sun is just starting to peek.

"So...no workout this morning?" I hedge as I bite into a cheese bun.

"Not today," he says. "I shouldn't have been so pushy about it. If I'd been smart, I would have made you a breakfast like this every morning. Taken you out on dates. Twelve years pining after you, and I screw it up in the last two months."

It's true, it hasn't exactly been wedded bliss around here. More like we spent two months straight at the Training Center. But we haven't been completely devoid of affection. We've been sneaking in quick kisses throughout the day, holding each other at night. And, Peeta has made good on his warning of the constant I-love-yous. But, clearly, the Quell was a priority.

"We had to get ready," I say, in an attempt to mollify him. "I mean, you could have laid off Haymitch a bit, but if anything, the regimen has helped me. I haven't had as many nightmares lately, and I think it's because I've had a sense of control over the situation. So you did fine."

"Yeah, I've noticed you've been sleeping better."

"Haven't you?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Worse. Remember how I told you my nightmares are usually of losing you? Well, now with the Quell coming up... That's why I've pushed you so hard. I want you to have the best possible chance of winning. Even though it'll mean—"

"Don't!" I cup my hand over his mouth to cut him off. "I don't want to think about that right now. Let's just try to enjoy our breakfast."

Peeta takes my hand and kisses it. "Just know that whatever happens out there, I will never stop loving you."

* * *

At two o'clock, the entire district is gathered in the square. Completely ridiculous, since there are only three potential tributes. But at least everyone else can rest assured that their children won't be taken away this year. Gale's brother, Rory, who signed up for tesserae when the mines closed, is granted a reprieve.

We don't get our final goodbye this time. As soon as our names are drawn, we are shoved onto the train, never to return. At least I know I've done all I can for my family.

Now, it's time to shift my focus to Peeta.


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm so sorry for the delay, but I had a really hard time with this chapter. I hope I made it worth the wait._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

I should be sleeping, but sleep evades me. Tomorrow, we'll be launched into the arena, and I'll be faced with my most challenging task yet.

The only way I'll be able to keep Peeta alive is if it comes down to just the two of us. It could happen. In fact, I'd say there's a pretty fair chance. Because in each other, we have something no other tribute has: a true partner. Unlike the typical Games alliance, ours isn't temporary. It won't be severed once our usefulness to each other has run its course. Peeta and I will have each other's back until the rest of the playing field is eliminated. And then, the Gamemakers will engineer something—killer mutts, fireballs, a "natural" disaster, _something_—to take me out, thereby crowning Peeta Victor of Victors.

But, if I'm killed off any sooner, I know Peeta will die too, and I will have failed.

In the streets below, the pandemonium that began during the Tribute Interviews continues to rage. The people of the Capitol were already upset with the prospect of losing twenty-three of their favorite celebrities, but the revelation that their beloved newlyweds are apparently expecting was the last straw. When Peeta dropped the baby bomb, all hell broke loose. They took to the streets, calling for a cancellation. I had no idea they cared so much.

But it's to no avail. Snow can't cancel the Games now. Not if he hopes to regain control over Panem. The countdown will begin promptly at ten o'clock, and if I'm to have any hope of keeping Peeta alive, I need to be well rested. I'll be of no use to him dead on my feet.

Peeta appears to be sleeping, but if he's having my luck, all he's managed to achieve is semi-consciousness. I've been drifting in and out all night. Sometimes, a dream will even form, but before the tendrils of slumber can fully pull me under, something—a noise from the rampage outside, or a slight movement from Peeta—will snap me out of it, and I'll be wide awake again.

But even if I could sleep, I'm not sure I'd want to. Because once we're in the arena, we'll be lucky if we can find a place to rest at all, let alone one that's warm, and comfortable, and secure, like here in each other's arms. This may be the last chance I'll get to lay here, with Peeta holding me, protecting me. The last chance I'll have to feel his warm breath tickle my face. The last chance I'll get to be lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat...

The next thing I know, he's shaking my shoulder. "Katniss! Wake up!" The urgency in his voice is unmistakable. "We have to get away from here! Now!"

I open my eyes, and the ground ignites, three feet in front of me. I look up, and fire is raining down on us. I jump to my feet and proceed to pack our supplies.

"Leave it!" Peeta yells. "We won't be needing it anymore."

He's probably right. Besides us, there's only one tribute left. Cashmere. No...that's not right. She died when I dropped a tracker jacker nest on her...I think. Maybe it's Johanna? Or Clove? No, Clove was killed in last year's Games. Damnit, why can't I remember?

Well, I'll be reminded soon enough. No doubt, this firestorm was conjured by the Gamemakers to force us into the final showdown. Peeta and I grab our weapons and a half-empty canteen and make a run for it, abandoning our campsite.

I'm a few steps ahead of Peeta before I remember he can't run as fast as I can. This was true even before he became hampered by his prosthetic leg. I take his hand in an effort to match his pace.

"Let go!" he yells. He tries to jerk his hand away. "Just run! Don't worry about me!"

"No!" I tighten my grip, even though every muscle in my body wants me to do the opposite. I refuse to let go, afraid that if I do, we'll become separated. I've sworn to protect him, and protect him, I will. "I won't leave you!"

We stumble through the trees, the smoky air threatening to suffocate us. We try breathing though our shirts, but that offers little in the way of relief. Our eyes sting, making it nearly impossible to tell where we're going. We're like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to find a way out of this inferno.

"There!" Peeta croaks, his voice made husky by the smoke and ash. I look in the direction he's pointing, and see an open path, about fifty yards off, untouched by the flames. Clearly, that's where the Gamemakers want us to go. We gladly take it.

"I...can't..." Peeta collapses to the ground before we're completely in the clear, but at least the fire is far enough behind us to not pose an immediate threat. I quickly follow suit, and we're both rendered completely helpless, shaking violently, as our bodies expel the toxins we've been breathing in. If Cashmere—or whoever it is—were to come charging through the trees, it would be an easy victory for her. But we can't worry about that right now. We stay put until there's nothing left to throw up.

As we sit there, catching our breath and rehydrating, the unexpected happens. Off in the distance, the cannon booms. Peeta and I exchange a blank look as the realization hits us.

We're the only two left. Again. Just like last year.

"Well, this is it," he says. He pulls me toward him and touches his lips to mine. "I love you." Then, he reaches into his pocket, and produces a drawstring pouch. His actions don't register immediately. My mind is on the Gamemakers, and whatever they have planned for me. I know it's coming, any moment now. As I stand there and wait, Peeta opens his mouth and tosses back the contents of the pouch. And that's when I realize...

Nightlock!

"No, Peeta! Don't!" I scream.

But I'm too late. He collapses to the ground before I can blink. His body convulses for a minute, and then goes limp.

"Peeta!" I slap his chest, although I know it won't do any good. He's gone. His empty eyes are locked on the tree canopy above, but they see nothing. "Peeta!"

In desperation, I take the pouch and shake it out over my hand. When nothing falls out, I scan the ground, hoping he dropped one. Just one little berry. That's all I need. But I come up empty. Peeta has eaten them all, the selfish bastard! And now, all I can do is wait for the Gamemakers to act.

And then, I hear it.

"Katniss. Katniss." It's Peeta's voice, and it has taken on the form of a distant echo. "Katniss! Wake up." It gradually becomes louder and closer. "Wake up!"

I jerk awake, and realize there are tears in my eyes. It takes a moment for me to get my bearings. I'm in my room at the Training Center. It's still dark. The rioting can still be heard, twelve stories below our window.

Peeta takes me in his arms. "It was only a dream, Katniss," he assures me. But his words bring no comfort. It may have only been a dream, but it was also a stark reality.

"Peeta!" I'm sobbing frantically, now. "You can't sacrifice yourself for me! You have to let me save you. You have to let me get you home." The words pour out of my mouth before I can recall them.

"Home to what, Katniss?" Peeta says. "Without you—"

I interrupt him with a kiss before he can say anymore. He tries to pull away, to state his case, but I won't let him. I don't want to start an argument that neither of us will win. And, I'm desperate to get as far away from that dream as possible. And Peeta doesn't seem to want to fight, either. Without much of an effort, he gives in, and what started out as a mere distraction gradually becomes more heated. I soon begin to melt.

New sensations rock through me as his lips travel down my neck. He has never kissed me like this before! As he makes his way to the hollow of my throat, and across my collarbone, I know I'm about to reach the point of no return. If I don't hit the brakes now, I won't be able to stop at all.

But why should I? I'm going to be dead in a matter of days. Maybe even tomorrow. I have no future, no reason for regret, no consequences to pay for my actions. And I'm afraid to go back to sleep. And here's Peeta, my...my husband—ironic that I finally start to think of him that way, right before I'm supposed to die—my husband, who has loved me his whole life. What reason is there to _not_ allow this to continue?

None. Absolutely none. So I ignore the part of my brain that wants to think it through, and concentrate on other things instead. Like the warmth of Peeta's hands as he gently caresses the contours of my body. The way his hair smells. The way his lips taste. The cool of his whisper as his lips tickle my ear, telling me things not meant for an audience to hear. I drink it all in. Commit it to a memory that will hopefully give me strength in my final moments.

Tonight, I really am a Girl on Fire.

Morning arrives all too soon, and it's hard to tear myself away from him. But Cinna and Portia are here to accompany us to the launchroom.

"Well, this is it," Peeta says.

I freeze as his words send an unshakable feeling of foreboding over me. Because that's exactly what he said in that dream, before...

He leans in and kisses me. And it would be a nice kiss, too, if it didn't seem to mimic that horrible nightmare. I wrap my arms tightly around him, and refuse to let go. Because now, I'm suddenly terrified that this is the last time I'll ever see him. That one of us will die at the Cornucopia, before we have a chance to meet up. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and returns my embrace just as tightly. We stay there for a long time, locked in each other's arms, until Cinna and Portia have to tear us apart.

Peeta leaves me with one last kiss before we part ways. "I love you."

I'm still in a daze, fixed on that ghastly dream. It isn't until the elevator door slides shut behind Peeta and Portia that I finally wake up.

"I love you, too," I whisper.


	9. Chapter 9

The arena bends and roils around me. It takes everything I have to keep moving. I need to find Peeta. Not that I'd be of much use to him in this state.

I reach up to touch my temple, still throbbing from where Johanna struck me. My left forearm is still gushing where she stabbed it.

Well, I can't exactly call her a traitor, can I? It's not like I didn't know something like this would happen eventually. This is the Hunger Games after all, and whatever alliances may form, everybody is ultimately in it for themselves. Because the alternative means your own death. Self-defense. It's always self-defense.

Which is exactly why Peeta and I didn't want allies in the first place. But Haymitch was so damn insistent and whether we liked it or not, we got them. And ever since, they've been trying to separate me from Peeta. And they finally succeeded.

But why didn't Johanna just kill me? She had the upper hand. She had me pinned. She could have easily slit my throat. A person with the wits to survive by pretending to be a weepy little coward can't really be so stupid. It's the same type of bizarre behavior Finnick displayed when he saved Peeta's life. Twice. Nobody ever saves lives in the arena. Even if you're not the bloodthirsty type out to up your kill count, if someone dies, it's just one less person standing between you and home.

Oh, yeah. And when Mags dove into that deadly fog. Although maybe, in her case, it might have been suicide, rather than self-sacrifice. She was never going to make it out of here.

But still...something doesn't add up.

But it doesn't matter now. Whatever transpired over the last few days is clearly over. I have to assume Finnick is still in league with Johanna. And Beetee...I don't know. I can barely form a coherent thought to work it out.

Where is Peeta?

Head spinning, I stagger drunkenly until I reach the edge of the trees. On my hands and knees, I somehow make my way up the hill, where I find Beetee unconscious. His wire is tied around the hilt of a knife, tight in his grip. What was he trying to do?

My heart stops at the sound of a cannon. _Please, don't let that be Peeta!_ Then there's another. What just happened? My panic is quickly extinguished when I hear his voice frantically calling my name.

"Katniss! Katniss!"

_Oh, thank God!_

"Peeta!" I scream. "I'm here!" He'll never find me, of course. But maybe that will draw any enemy away from him. Away from him, and right to me. Me, and my arrows, and this lightening tree.

And _maybe_ I'll be able to shoot straight.

_Enemy_...

What did Haymitch say about the enemy? "_Remember who the enemy is."_ His last words of advice were to remember the enemy. And he wasn't referring to the other tributes. He meant the Capitol. The _real_ enemy. Of course I know that.

Something clicks in my muddled mind and, as quickly as my shaking hands will allow, I untie the wire from the hilt of Beetee's knife, and fasten it around the end of my arrow. I locate the weak spot in the force field and carefully take aim, letting my arrow fly as the lightning strikes.

After that, the world goes black.

* * *

"Miss Everdeen, have you heard a word I've said?" demands Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee. I meet his eyes with a glare that, to me, feels like I could shoot lightning bolts from mine. But, to everybody else, I probably just look like I've been given a powerful sedative after having a large section of my brain sucked out.

Turns out Plutarch is one of the rebels. Who knew? Not only is he a rebel, but he was the mastermind behind the plot to blow up the arena.

That's right. Beetee's plan wasn't just a scheme to trap the Careers, as Peeta and I were led to believe. It was part of a much larger plot. Half the tributes were in on it. Not Peeta and I, though. We were pawns. Everybody's job was to keep us alive. Only it didn't go so well for Peeta. He got picked up by the Capitol, along with Johanna and Enobaria, while Finnick, Beetee, and I were safely brought to Thirteen. That was a month ago.

Oh, and Johanna wasn't _attacking_ me. She was digging the tracker out of my arm so that the Capitol would be unable to locate me. I'm sure she enjoyed it. She was probably chomping at the bit for the opportunity to cause me physical pain for the greater good.

"That's _Missus_!" I spit back at Plutarch. And no. I haven't paid a lick of attention to a single word he has said, because it's the same speech I've heard every day since being released from the hospital. They need me to be the Mockingjay. The face of the rebellion. To blaze the path to victory, and blah, blah, blah.

But why should I cooperate after they tied Peeta to the railroad track?

"Perhaps you don't understand how important the Mockingjay is to the rebellion." voices President Coin from the other end of the table.

"Sure I understand," I say bitterly. "It was important enough to keep Peeta alive for my sake, but now that you have me here, it doesn't matter what the Capitol does to him."

Plutarch speaks up again. "Now, Katniss, we couldn't let everybody in on the plot. Peeta was in no more danger than anyone else who didn't—"

My mouth falls open in disbelief. Did he really just say that? I jump to my feet, and pound my fists on the table, although the sound isn't nearly as impressive as I would have liked for it to be. "That's bullshit, and you know it! Peeta was in more danger than _everybody_ else out there, just for being connected to me! He went in there prepared to die, not spend weeks in Snow's custody being tortured!"

The thought of what they might be doing to him as I stand here sends cold shivers down my spine. "I'm not agreeing to a damn thing until you get Peeta out of the Capitol." I storm out of Command without being dismissed.

I don't make it very far down the hall before I have to stop. It must be close to four o'clock in the afternoon. I've had to switch my anxiety medication twice because I couldn't handle the side effects. The one I'm on now causes severe nausea, but I'll take that over vivid hallucinations of spider mutts any day. At least it happens around the same time every day, so I know when to expect it. I'm usually okay after a good puke. I quickly locate the nearest restroom and hang my head over a toilet.

As soon as I'm sure I have nothing left, I rinse my mouth and continue on my way to my favorite utility closet. I shut the door and curl up against the wall with my head between my knees to combat the dizziness.

I just wish I knew something. Anything! Is he dead or alive? Did they make him an Avox? That's probably the best I can hope for. But most likely they are torturing him. Not for rebel information—they would have figured out a long time ago that he knows nothing—but in hopes of breaking me.

And, I have to say, it's working.

A few minutes later, the door opens. I don't have to look up to know who it is.

"What are they doing to him, Gale?" The agony is palpable in my voice. "If I just knew whether he were dead or alive, then maybe I could figure out what to do from there. But being in the dark is pure hell."

He clears a space next to me and takes a seat. "Well, you might know something sooner than you think," he says. "Plutarch is seriously considering organizing a rescue mission."

"Yeah, right." I eye him doubtfully, refusing to get my hopes up. "I've been barking up that tree for a month."

"It's risky business," Gale explains. "But they need you that badly..." He becomes distracted by the beeping of his communicuff. "We need to get back into Command. They only sent me to bring you back."

Rejuvenated by the hope of being reunited with Peeta, I jump to my feet, and sprint down the hall.


	10. Chapter 10

_I apologize for the delay. I'm sure you all thought I'd abandoned this project. __I've been suffering from an unfortunate malady known as writer's block. I know where I want to go—in fact, future chapters have been pouring out of my head—but figuring out how to get there has been tricky._

_Thanks for sticking with me. Your patience is greatly appreciated, and, as always, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"I don't like it. It constitutes too great a risk with no guarantee of success."

That's what I walk into when I return to Command. It's not hard to guess the topic of discussion underway: Peeta's rescue. And Coin is clearly against it. She shoots me a very pointed look as I quietly take my seat. "There has to be a way of making her see reason."

"Before we decide anything, we need to gather some intel," says Boggs. "For all we know the boy could be..." He pauses briefly as his eyes meet mine. "The boy could be in no need of rescuing."

In no need of rescuing. In other words, dead. At least Boggs had the tact to not word it so bluntly.

"I'll find out as much as I can from my people," says Plutarch, "but it could be days before I know anything. They can't simply pick up a phone and start talking. We have to go about this carefully."

Well, there's a positive note. No matter what they decide, I'll at least know something soon.

"Pardon me, Madame President," Fluvia interjects. "You may want to see this." She gestures toward the television, which is currently muted. Coin hits a button on the control panel in front of her to turn up the volume.

Everyone's eyes turn to the screen, where Caesar Flickerman is still sporting that lavender hair. What on earth could he possibly have to say that warrants Coin's attention? I want to get back to discussing Peeta's rescue.

I have the answer in a matter of seconds, when the camera zooms out to reveal his guest.

_Peeta!_

I run up to the screen and place my hand on it. I can't even begin to describe the emotions that flood through me at the sight of him. "You're alive," I whisper. Alive, and unharmed. Not bruised, not scarred, not an Avox. He's strong. Whole. Handsome. Just as I last saw him. It's far more than I could have ever hoped for.

Caesar begins the interview by asking what it was like in the arena, and Peeta is surprisingly candid in his account. Then they get into the facts surrounding the rebel plot. When it is implied that I was involved, Peeta vehemently defends me.

But then, the interview takes an unexpected turn. Just as they are about to wrap things up, Peeta...calls for a cease-fire?

_What?_

Behind me, whispers fill the room like the hisses of a pack of vipers. I pick up on words like "traitor" and "enemy."

I'm not sure how I should react. I'm not about to join in their rails against Peeta, but even I have to admit, this looks very, very bad. I need time to myself. To process what just happened, and figure out the best way to approach the situation. So, careful not to make eye contact with anybody, I storm out of Command and head straight for the laundry room, where there is a nice, large pipe for me to hide behind. When I get there, I bury my face in my hands and let my despair crush me.

I was so close. I thought I was about to be reunited with Peeta. I've been begging for it for a month. But Coin isn't about to authorize a rescue mission now. Not for a traitor. Especially a traitor who is apparently being treated well. Or, as Boggs so aptly put it, is in no need of rescuing.

But if you ask me, Peeta is in need of rescuing. He's being held against his will, and clearly, Snow is manipulating him. He would never say the things he did if he weren't under duress. He wants to be here, fighting alongside me, just as we always have. But he isn't. Instead, he's in the Capitol, lending Snow his power of persuasion.

I look up at the opposite wall where a spider is spinning a web. As I watch it creep about in circular motion, weaving its silk threads into a trap where it will lay in wait for its prey, something Finnick told me comes to mind. _"They won't kill Peeta if they think they can use him against you."_

And now, Snow is doing just that. With this seemingly reasonable call for a cease-fire, he's showing the rebels that their Mockingjay is married to an obvious Capitol Loyalist. Trying to kill the revolution by killing my image. And it doesn't help that I seem to have vanished from the face of the earth.

That decides it. I have to take on the role. For damage control. To dissuade anybody who might be tempted by Peeta's words. To let the rebels know that the Mockingjay is still alive and well, and still fighting for them. I have to do what I can to keep the Capitol from gaining a foothold.

But with this new development comes a new problem: if the rebels win, Peeta will be executed for treason.

* * *

After a sleepless night, I agree to be the Mockingjay on the condition that Peeta, along with the other tributes taken from the arena, be granted immunity. After all, if they were considering a rescue mission, this should be nothing in comparison. After a great deal of persuasion, Coin reluctantly agrees.

My first assignment is delivering aid in District Seven. Being Panem's lumber supplier, it is a very large, forested district, sparsely dotted with villages throughout. Because of the vast area it covers, we plan on spending several days here. The fighting is still going on in some places, but most of the district is secure, so it shouldn't be too difficult to keep me out of immediate danger.

The hovercraft drops us off in an open field, just on the outskirts of one of the secure villages. We are met with Seven's trademark weather. Rain. I recall Peeta and I encountering the same thing on the Victory Tour. But unlike then, when I was dolled up for show, I refuse an umbrella when it's offered. Gale, who, along with Boggs, is acting as my bodyguard, does the same. After all, it's not much more than a drizzle. We've hunted in worse.

We follow Boggs through a series of backstreets and alleyways until we reach the square. It is the scene here that stops me in my tracks.

Wounded, many mortally. Hundreds upon hundreds of them—young and old, battered and bleeding, severely burned, limbs missing—just laying on the ground, being pelted by the rain. There is no place for them to go. Their homes have been destroyed. Those who are capable are constructing crude canopies of tarpaulin, but they're not fast enough. This, I realize, is why the medics brought so many tents.

Now, I'm nervous. It took me a very long time to get used to being in the house while my mother was working, and that was only because I was forced to, when my hunting privileges got revoked. And her patients were never mutilated this badly. And she always kept them sanitary. And I wasn't on medication that made me vomit like clockwork.

Just as I am wondering how I'm going to make it through this visit, a young girl of six or seven catches my eye. Her blond hair and slight frame make me think of Prim, although the two bear no resemblance at all. She's lying unclothed on her left side, crying hysterically. A large piece of shrapnel is protruding from her right. An equally battered woman, who I assume to be her mother, is trying desperately to console her. Another haggard-looking adult sits with them, prepping surgical tools. I suddenly forget my aversions and go over to them. Gale follows.

The mother takes notice of me, and her face lights up. "Posy, look who it is!"

The young girl stops crying and looks up. "Katniss Everdeen?"

I smile at her. "Your name is Posy? I know another girl named Posy." I eye Gale, but he is busy talking to the doctor.

"Do your medics have any anesthetics?" The doctor asks urgently. "We've had to do without for weeks. I need to debride and stitch this wound, and it isn't going to be pleasant."

"Yes. I'll go get some." I watch as Gale disappears into the crowd. I hope he returns quickly. I know from my mother's experience that debridement is excruciating. She always kept well stocked in sleep syrup, should the need ever arise. The thought of anyone, let alone a child, having to endure it while awake is unbearable.

"How old are you, Posy?" I ask, attempting to distract her.

"Six," she whimpers.

"That's what I thought," I say. "You're such a brave girl."

She sniffles. "Just like you."

"Oh, no," I tell her. "You're much braver than I am." And I'm not just saying that. I genuinely mean it. Certainly, I've had my share of hardships, but growing up in District Twelve I've had it easier than most people. At the age of six, I was hunting and swimming with my father. I can't imagine witnessing the hell this girl has at such a young age.

Just then, Gale shows up with a medical kit and a fresh linen.

"We're going to give you something that will help you fall asleep," I tell Posy, "and when you wake up, you'll be all fixed up."

"Okay." She starts sobbing again.

The doctor dampens a cloth with a bottle of something from the medical kit and presses it to Posy's nose. She is out almost immediately. Her mother takes my hand. "Thank you so much for calming her down!"

"I was glad to help," I say. I look the woman over. She has some pretty bad lacerations of her own. The ones in her face and neck appear to be superficial. "I can get those for you," I say. I then give a nod to the piece shrapnel in her upper arm. "But I'm going to leave that to the professionals." She nods her ascent, and I get to work.

News of my presence spreads through the crowd like wildfire. I make my way through, shaking eager hands, and occasionally dressing wounds where I feel comfortable. I'm fully aware I'm being filmed—it isn't like Cressida and the Insects could push through this throng without being noticed—but with my attention otherwise occupied, it's easy to push them to the back of my mind. But they're still present enough to give me the determination I need to keep the contents of my stomach on the inside.

"We got some good stuff today," Cressida says as we are sitting down for dinner.

"Katniss is a natural healer," replies Gale.

I vaguely remember Peeta saying something of the sort in the Quell, but I shake my head and tell Gale the same thing I told him. "Not really. That's my mother and sister's department."

"I wasn't referring to physical healing," Gale says. "All these people need is to see you."

And that's how I spend the next several days. Traveling from village to village, passing out food and supplies, pitching tents, and filming propos. On day five, Boggs receives word that the Peacekeeping force has surrendered. The fighting in Seven is over. Cheers of victory thunder through the air.

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Katniss?" Cressida asks.

"Yes, there is." I focus on the red, blinking light of the camera. "People of Panem, do not lose heart. We have District Seven, and we will win the rest. And then, we'll be coming for you, Snow!"

I am scheduled to leave the next day. But before I go, I make one final trip to the square, where some wounded have taken up shelter in the cellar of the shoe shop. As I am having a conversation with a woman named Violet, the unexpected happens. The first thing I notice is the ground shaking violently under me. I lose balance, and fall on my backside. I grab a nearby shelf for support, but as soon as I'm back on my feet, it breaks off in my hand, and I'm back on the floor. The next thing I know, the building comes crashing down on top of us.


	11. Chapter 11

_Here it is. Finally! Again, I'm sorry for the long wait._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

By instinct, I curl up into a ball, and place my hands protectively over my head. I'm not sure how long the shaking lasts, but it feels like an eternity. The only thing I am aware of is the sound of debris crashing to the ground, and the dust it stirs up. I try not to breathe it in, but am unable to help it, which causes me to break out into a violent coughing fit.

When it finally stops, everything is pitch black. I'm boxed in on all sides with barely any room to wiggle or even lift my head. I know something hit it during the commotion, but thanks to Cinna's helmet, I don't think it took any damage—at least, I hope I didn't, since the concussion Johanna gave me over a month ago hasn't fully healed. I also felt a sting as something grazed my forearm. I touch the area and feel the sticky wetness of blood, but, as far as I can tell without being able to see, it doesn't seem to be flowing very heavily. I press my bare, dirty hand—the only thing I have at the moment—against the wound to try to stop the bleeding.

I'm also aware of a strange buzzing sound, like a fly as it tries to free itself from a spider's web, but before I can place its source, someone calls through the darkness, drowning it out.

"Daddy?" yells the frantic feminine voice. I _think_ I recognize it as belonging to a fifteen-year-old girl named Cayenne, who was down here taking care of her injured father. "Daddy, are you alive? Answer me!"

"Cayenne?" I call out. "Is that you?"

"Who's there?" she asks.

"It's Katniss Everdeen," I reply. "Are you hurt?" Meanwhile, the buzzing sound is becoming increasingly louder, starting and stopping, like the fly is about to give up the fight.

"I'm pinned," Cayenne says. "And I can't see my dad."

"Don't worry," I say. "They'll find us." This, I can pretty much guarantee, considering the great lengths everyone has gone to to keep me alive. Being trapped under a pile of rubble with the Mockingjay was a stroke of luck for Cayenne.

From somewhere above, I hear Gale calling. "Katniss! Katniss, can you hear me?"

"Gale!" I try to yell as loud as I can, but it's difficult with me being inhibited by dust in my throat. "I can..." I cough again. "I can barely move!"

"Hang in there!" he shouts. I guess that means he heard me. "We're going to dig you out!"

Before I can reply, the buzzing sound is back, and this time, I can make out words. "Katniss! Katniss, are you there? Can you hear me?" That's when I finally realize my earpiece is dangling on the side of my face. I set it in place, and answer Haymitch's panicked cries. "I'm here." I'm grateful to have a way to communicate with the outside that doesn't involve shouting.

"Thank God." The relief in his voice is palpable. "Are you hurt?"

"I...I'm not sure." I wiggle around as best I can in an attempt at a once-over. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure. There's no room to move. What happened? Were we attacked?"

"No, it was an earthquake," he says. "How many people are with you?"

"There are five down here," I say. "At least one is alive."

"Just hang tight," Haymitch says. "We'll have you out of there ASAP."

"I'll be right here," I say wryly. From up above, I can hear that people have already begun to work. There's nothing to do on my end, but wait.

"Does this happen a lot here?" I ask Cayenne through the darkness. "Quakes, I mean." We didn't spend a lot of time in school studying the geological behavior of other districts. After reading, writing, and very basic math—as well as heavily Capitol-biased history and government classes—the curriculum in Twelve centered mainly around coal mining. The school in Thirteen is different. I've seen Prim's homework. They teach everything. The kind of math they make her do is scary.

"Sometimes," Cayenne answers. "We're on an active fault, and there are a lot of volcanoes in the region. One is overdue for an eruption, they say."

As the people above labor to reach us, Cayenne and I pass the time by talking. She asks me about growing up in District Twelve. I tell her about my father dying in the mine. Hunting illegally to feed my family. I tell her about the Hob, and the lenient Peacekeepers who would buy my kills.

She tells me about her life in Seven. Her mother is the foreman of this village's mill, which means that Cayenne enjoys a life of relative privilege. Not quite as well to do as, say, the mayor, but better than a common merchant, and definitely better than the lumberjacks, who, like the coal miners in Twelve, slave away at dangerous work and can still barely afford to feed their families.

But, as we all know, money doesn't spare anybody from the reaping. Cayenne lost her brother to the Games three years ago.

"He stood a pretty good chance of winning," she says. "He was smart, very strong, and a monster with an axe. He made it all the way to the top four, but...well, you know how it is."

I do know. How well I do.

"Ever since then, my father has been wanting to organize a resistance movement," she continues. "When he heard that the people in the other towns had begun to revolt, he rallied the people here."

It's hours later when the rescue team finally reaches us. After being crouched in the same position for so long, my body protests even the smallest movements. It's so painful, in fact, that I can't climb out. Gale and Haymitch have to lift me by the armpits. They lay me on a stretcher and quickly carry me to the hovercraft. When I ask about Cayenne's father, Gale tells me he was found unconscious, but alive.

Back in Thirteen, I am given a full body scan, and an antibiotic for the wound on my arm. I don't appear to have any serious injuries, but the doctors want to keep me under observation for a couple of days. The bright side of being confined to the hospital is getting to see Prim. She's training to be a medic, and her schedule keeps her pretty busy.

I also get to have Finnick for company. Because the Capitol has his Annie, he and I share the same pain. During mealtimes, he brings his tray over to my bed so we can eat together.

"What is this?" He picks up a small, deep-fried rectangle between his thumb and index finger like it's a soiled pair of underwear.

"It's called a fish stick," I say sarcastically.

He breaks it in half to examines the inside. "Call it what you want, but this is no fish."

I roll my eyes. "Well, if you're not going to eat it, I will." Leave it to someone from District Four to be able to tell a real fish from a processed one. But I don't care. The way I grew up, you don't turn your nose up at food that's right in front of you.

"Help yourself." He waves them toward me. I accept the offer gratefully. Nobody starves in District Thirteen. You're always given enough calories and nutrients to get you from one meal to the next. But I'm still hungry.

"I hope the rebels get District Four soon," Finnick says. "Then maybe we can get some decent fish."

"They'll still cut it up and throw it into the fryer," I say. "They're cooking for a large population. They don't have time to do anything fancy."

"And someone should teach them the meaning of the word dessert," Finnick goes on. "This..." He brandishes a spoonful of of diced apples in front of my face. "Just doesn't cut it." But in spite of his rant, he polishes off the bowl.

"You know what I miss?" I say. "Peeta's cinnamon rolls."

Finnick smiles ruefully. "I bet he kept you well stocked back home."

"Well...yes he did," I say. "In cheese buns. Because he knew they were my favorite. But lately, I've been wanting cinnamon. I guess I'm just remembering the way his hands smelled. He baked with it a lot."

"The next time I see Annie, I'm going to ask her to marry me," Finnick says out of the blue. "Without hesitation."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," I say. "As hopeless as you are over her."

"It's been...complicated." He gives no further explanation, and I don't press him. After all, if there's anything I understand about relationships, it's complicated.

I smile at him. "She's a lucky girl."

"I'm the lucky one," he says.

"Did you love her right away?"

He shakes his head. "No. She crept up on me."

That night, a nightmare creeps up on me. But this one isn't of the usual stock. There are no vicious, slobbering mutts, poised to kill. No jabberjays programmed to unhinge. No time traps of any kind. I am not in the arena at all. Instead, I'm sitting in a small, ornately decorated room along with a dozen others. Haymitch is there with me. In the front of the room, seated at a long, lofty table, facing the crowd, are three figures wearing long, black robes.

The Tribunal. And President Coin is one of them.

Also, front and center, facing the Tribunal, is a stocky, blond male of average height. He's wearing a grey jumpsuit, and his ankles and wrists are cuffed. Two guards are standing on either side of him.

"Peeta Mellark," booms Coin maliciously. "On behalf of the Nation of Panem, for your treasonous acts, this Tribunal finds you guilty. You are hereby sentenced to death by firing squad."

I jump to my feet and scream. "No!" I try to run to him, but am blocked by two guards.

His blue eyes lock on mine. "Katniss. Help me."

I wake up in a cold sweat. It is times like this when I miss Peeta the most. I need him here. I need to feel his arms around me. But mostly, I need to know he's safe.

_Get a grip,_ _Katniss_,I tell myself. That nightmare was nothing to be afraid of. It was completely unfounded. Because the only way Peeta will face execution is if I fail as the Mockingjay. And there is no way in the world that will happen. I will carry out my duties to perfection. The rebels will win, and Peeta will be safe. That's all there is to it.

"Do whatever you must, Peeta," I whisper. "I've got your back."

The next morning, I'm scheduled to be released from the hospital. Before I go, my mother gives my vital signs a final check. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," I shrug. "Most of the aching is gone, but..."

She picks up on my hesitation. "But, what?"

"Well, now my chest is sore," I say. "It just started this morning. Is it my antibiotic?" Frankly, I'm not sure how many new side effects I can take, and I'm starting to think these powerful District Thirteen concoctions are doing more harm than good. Since the day I arrived here, my body has been more screwed up than ever.

"Let me see." She picks up my medical chart. "Hmm. You were only given one dose of the antibiotic, two days ago. It should be out of your system by now." Her eyebrows furrow as she thumbs through the pages. "Nothing else you're on is known to cause heart problems, and your heartbeat sounded fine to me, but I'm going to order an electrocardiogram, just to be sure."

"Oh, I don't need that," I tell her. "I wasn't talking about my heart." Before I explain further, I glance around the room to ensure that nobody can hear. But when I return my attention to my mother, I'm caught off guard by the expression on her face. It's as though a light bulb just clicked on in her head. Somehow I get the feeling no further explanation is needed.

"What?" I ask, alarmed. I can tell something is wrong, and from the way she purses her lips, it's pretty serious.

Uh-oh. Now she's pulling the curtain shut around us.

"Katniss," she whispers. "I'd like to examine you myself, if you don't mind."


	12. Chapter 12

**I hope I did Katniss' emotions in this chapter justice. Enjoy!**

* * *

"How is it possible?" I'm in an exam room now, reeling from the conclusion my mother came to just a few minutes ago. A conclusion that is now being backed up by an ultrasound.

Could I really be pregnant?

The symptoms say yes. Apparently, the nausea isn't just a side effect of the drugs. And there may be more to my cinnamon cravings than just missing Peeta. Even what should have been the most obvious sign was otherwise explicable. I've never had much of a reason to pay attention to my period, so I hadn't noticed it's absence. And even if I had, with all of the physical and mental stress I've been under, I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

But it was the mention of the sore breasts that finally tipped my mother off. And she didn't need an ultrasound to confirm her suspicions. Her skilled midwife's hands were able to detect the expansion of my uterus simply by touch.

But it doesn't make sense. Because how on earth could a fetus have survived the electric shock that ripped through my body when I blew out the arena?

Amazingly, it did, because according to the ultrasound, there is a baby—or possibly a lima bean—swimming around in my womb. It even has a heartbeat. A tiny, rapid little heartbeat.

"I was electrocuted in the arena," I say numbly to the obstetrician, a woman named Dr. Hartline, whose age I can't quite place. She has the face of a twenty-five-year-old, but an air of maturity that says she's much older.

"That's true, but..." She points to something on the screen, "...according to this, you didn't conceive until two days after you were rescued. Conception can take a few days to occur, depending on what point in your cycle you have sex. Which, in your case, must have been very soon before you went into the arena."

It was. The very night before. But I don't want to discuss that with her, or anyone else for that matter. It's something I haven't allowed myself to even think about since Peeta and I have been separated.

And now, I'll be reminded every single day.

"So during the three days you spent in the arena," continues Dr. Hartline, "there was no baby yet. Which would explain why it didn't show up in your blood work when you were brought here."

"You tested me when I was brought here?" This is news to me. Now, I feel a little violated.

"We had to, after your husband made that announcement," she says. "But we would have anyway, since you're a married woman of child-bearing age."

"Right," is all I say. "And this machine knows everything?" I look up at the screen, somewhat awed by all the information it spits out. It can tell me the exact date of conception, the current length and weight of the baby, and the fetal heart rate. It even seems to be under the impression that the baby is going to be born on a specific date in the middle of April. Does that mean they're going to induce labor on that day? That's not how it works in Twelve. Back home, the best anyone can do is pinpoint the month.

"They're pretty accurate nowadays," Hartline says, as she scribbles on a clipboard. "You got lucky. Very lucky. No more active combat for you. And I may have to switch your medications."

Again, with the medications!

She hands me my discharge notes, and leaves to attend to another patient. I'm free to go, but I can't seem to find my feet. I just sit there on the exam table and stare at the floor.

What am I going to do? How will I fulfill my Mockingjay duties? I heard Dr. Hartline. No more active combat. And once word of my pregnancy gets out, Coin won't authorize any more assignments. And it won't be out of concern for the baby's welfare. She couldn't care less about that. But she didn't like the conditions I put in place before agreeing to be the Mockingjay. She wants Peeta to fry for what he said. She's watching me like a hawk, just waiting for me to mess up.

I could get rid of it. They can do that here. But I'm not sure I want to take it to that extreme. Not after hearing the baby's little heartbeat. And Peeta would never forgive me. I have to protect this baby. Peeta's baby. There is no other option. This means my job as the Mockingjay is more important than ever. If the rebels lose this war, this baby is toast. My hand flies up to my abdomen and rests there.

What am I going to do?

A sudden thought occurs to me. Maybe...maybe...

Maybe I can walk a line. After all, Plutarch won't let me go anywhere without a bodyguard of at least four soldiers, and a dozen invisible hovercraft. And then there's my heavily armored Mockingjay suit. I'll always be well protected on all sides. So, if I just tread lightly, and do as I'm told...maybe I can keep both Peeta and the baby safe.

"Katniss?" I look up to see Prim standing at the door, and I can tell by the look on her face that she's heard. I try to fake a smile, but she can see right through it. She understands why I'm not jumping for joy. She knows what's at stake. She hoists herself up on the table next to me, and puts her arms around me. Unable to control myself, I bury my face in her shoulder and let the tears pour.

"What's wrong with this picture?" I let out a weak chuckle. "I'm supposed to be the caretaker here?"

"Oh, Katniss." She wipes a tear from my cheek. "You've always been there when I've needed you. Let me return the favor." She looks at her arm. "Come on. It's lunchtime."

We walk side by side through the tunnels of Thirteen in silence. But before we arrive at the Dining Hall, a rancid smell assaults my senses. "Ugh!" I cover my nose with my shirt. "What on earth are they cooking in there?"

"Onion soup, I think," Prim says.

"Well, it really stinks." I feel a wave of nausea coming over me. "I've gotta go." I turn and head in the opposite direction.

"Do you want me to come with you?" she calls after me.

"No, you eat. I'll see you later." I wave her off without looking back. She works in the hospital. She understands.

As I put distance between myself and the onions, the nausea abates. I'm not sure where I'm headed, but I'm staying far away from that Dining Hall today. I search my mind for my nearest hiding place when Gale finds me.

"There you are," he says. "I went looking for you at the hospital, but you'd already checked out."

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago."

"You're wanted in Command." It's then that he takes notice of my forlorn expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say brusquely.

We get to Command, and I'm surprised to see Finnick present. I take a seat between him and Haymitch, just as Boggs begins to speak.

"Good news," he says. "We have Districts Ten and Four." I give Finnick a playful nudge. Looks like his wish for real fish will soon be granted. And other meat, too, since we now have control of the nation's livestock as well.

"And things are looking good for Eight and Eleven, too." Boggs goes on. "I believe this recent turn of events is due largely to our Airtime Assault."

Hearing this brightens my mood considerably. Four, Seven, Eight, Ten, and Eleven. That's almost half the districts. Maybe my pregnancy won't be an issue for too long. If we can wrap this up quickly enough, I'll have Peeta back before the leaves start to fall. I wonder how he'll take the news. He'll probably be thrilled. I feel a smile spread across my face at the thought of seeing his blue eyes light up with excitement.

Boggs continues the briefing. "Beetee thinks he has found a way to break into the Capitol's airwaves. There's live programming tonight, so we're going to attempt to show our District Seven propo to the people of the Capitol."

"Excellent," I say quietly.

Coin turns on the television, just as Snow appears on the screen. After a short speech, the camera zooms out to reveal Peeta.

Both hands fly over my mouth at the sight of him. I hear a similar reaction from Haymitch. Because this is not the same Peeta we saw less than a week ago. This Peeta is thin and jittery. Beads of sweat drip down his face, and his eyes are strangely out of focus. His prep team has done their best to groom him, but they couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes, and I can tell it hurts him to move. And, is it me, or did they try to cover up a bruise on his face?

He _has_ been abused! This whole time. The interview from the other day...it's weeks old. That much is evident in the amount of weight he's lost.

Finnick reaches over and puts both hands on my shoulders, but he, too, is unable to take his eyes off the screen. For my part, I try to remain composed and hold in my scream.

Why have they done this to him? Peeta has no rebel secrets. No information to be extracted. His ignorance was supposed to have been his salvation. Did he become desperate enough to make things up? He must have. For the last—how long has it been?—five weeks, he's been telling his torturers things he thought might buy him a little mercy. And when it was discovered that he was lying, he was punished for it.

He's standing in front of a projected map of Panem, pointing out key infrastructure that has been damaged because of the war. Still calling for a cease-fire.

Then suddenly, there I am on the screen, standing before the devastation left in Seven. It only lasts a few seconds before the Capitol regains control. But when Peeta appears again, it's obvious he's seen the same image.

This on-screen battle between Beetee and the Capitol goes back and forth for about half a minute, with Peeta trying to deliver his speech all the while.

Snow appears again. "Obviously, the rebels are trying to keep us from broadcasting incriminating evidence. This program will resume once this security breach has been resolved."

Haymitch and I exchange looks of dread. We don't need words to know what the other is thinking.

* * *

So far today, I've discovered I'm pregnant and learned the extent of Peeta's suffering. It's a lot to take in, especially for someone just released from the hospital. But there's no rest for the weary. That afternoon, I'm sent to Twelve to shoot another propo. At least I won't have to go against Dr. Hartline's orders for this one. District Twelve is not an active combat zone.

Gale, and Haymitch are coming, of course. Pretty brave of Haymitch to try to face it without a bottle. He probably just wants to keep an eye on me. Might be a good idea, since I think I'm headed for a breakdown.

The hovercraft drops us off on the lawn of the Victor's Village, which, for whatever reason, was spared Snow's wrath. I plan to pick up some things for my family, but I'm anxious to get this propo over with first. When we reach the Village entrance, the scene outside the gate hits me like a battering ram. I stand there in mute shock, unable to move forward. I've seen the footage on television, but nothing could have prepared me for the death that lay before me.

Bodies. Bodies everywhere. The street is littered with the decomposing remains of my neighbors. Not burned. These people escaped the flames, only to succumb to the smoke and ash. And there are so many that it's impossible to avoid stepping on them.

What makes it worse is the eerie silence that accompanies it. The summer is absent of its usual noisy chorus. There is no annoying, incessant hum of cicadas. No crickets chirping. No birds singing. Because there are no trees left for them to live in. It's all just...empty.

Just like me.

"Katniss?" Gale takes my hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. Sure, I am. I somehow find my feet and trudge wearily forward. Cressida and the Insects want to film us at our houses in the Seam. Unfortunately, the road that leads to there passes right through the Square, where the scene takes a turn for the worse. Unlike the corpses by the Victors Village, these people did burn. I can almost hear them, screaming in agony as they try to find a way out of the inferno. Ash, and debris, death and desolation, everywhere.

I come upon the bakery, and suddenly I'm thinking of a cold, rainy night, six years ago. I was starving, and desperate, and about to give up. Peeta saw me sitting under the apple tree and threw me a lifeline. He took a beating for it that night. And now, he's far away, out of my reach, still being punished on my account. And I don't have a lifeline to throw him. In fact, my resurfacing as the Mockingjay, is probably making things worse.

He probably thinks I've abandoned him.

There, in front of the metal lump that was once an oven, I collapse to the ground. Grief overtakes me.

"It's-s m-my f-fault," I blubber. All of it is my fault. Peeta's torture. The destruction of my district. People dying all over the nation. It's all happening because I didn't eat those stupid berries in the first arena.

"None of this is your fault, sweetheart," says Haymitch.

I look up at him, but the tears make it impossible to see. "W-what are they...d-doing...him?"

My hand slides up to my abdomen as hopelessness crushes me. I can't do right by either of them. Be the Mockingjay, and Peeta pays. Don't, and the baby does. No matter what I do, I fail somebody. Just like I failed Peeta in the Quell. Just like I failed Rue the year before.

My sobs become wails, and I know I've reached the point of hysteria. The last thing I'm aware of is the jab of a needle into my arm.

* * *

**I really struggled over the pregnancy. With Katniss' severe PTSD, and the uncertainty of Peeta's fate, a baby almost seems like a cruel joke. And, even if it were a perfect, Utopian society, I can't really see a character like Katniss Everdeen choosing to settle down at the tender age of seventeen. She'd definitely wait until at least her thirties, don't you think? But, I decided to go with it, because the pregnancy is**** going to be instrumental later.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sooooooooo sorry for the delay! This one took far longer than I'd intended. What can I say? Writing is hard. But thank you for sticking with me.**** I know you miss Peeta. I do, too. Time for him to come home.**

* * *

When I open my eyes, I'm back in the old familiar hospital room. Haymitch is at my bedside. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning?" My voice is husky.

"Well...afternoon, almost. You've been out about eighteen hours."

Then the memory slowly surfaces—my pregnancy, the extent of Peeta's torment, District Twelve in ash, my utter failure—and despair once again washes over me.

"We're getting them out," he tells me. "Peeta and the others. Plutarch put together a rescue team. They left last night."

"Well, it's about fucking time," I growl through gritted teeth. I have no feelings of gratitude for that self-seeking ex-Gamemaker. As far as I'm concerned, he's only doing for Peeta what he owes him. And the others. And it's long overdue.

I push myself up into a sitting position and notice the sting in my arm where the needle penetrated my skin. "Ugh. These people can't keep shooting me with drugs whenever they feel like it. It's not good for..." I let the sentence drop just before the word slips.

"The baby." Haymitch nods. "I heard. Believe me, your mother gave us an earful when we brought you in yesterday."

A sudden feeling of panic overtakes me. "Does Coin know?"

"Yes."

"I need to keep doing this, Haymitch." My voice has taken on a pleading tone. Twenty-four hours ago, I wasn't so sure, but now...well, the rescue mission will result in one of two things: Either Peeta will be safe here, or he'll be dead. Either way, I'll no longer have to worry about him paying for my actions. "I made a deal. Peeta could be executed if I don't hold up my end."

"Relax, Sweetheart. We'll find a way to keep doing to propos. I mean, if the original plan was to use that God awful studio, there has to be some middle ground. Besides...who knows?" A wry smile crosses his face. "Maybe with Peeta's help, the studio won't go to waste."

I shoot him back with mock laughter. "Very funny." But he's right. Peeta has carried every interview we've done together since the first arena. He carried our _wedding_, of all things. The only thing I really remember about the ceremony is that I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. I was so zoned out, I might as well have been a zombie. But I do remember Peeta being there, holding my hand. Peeta could turn my worst performance into a usable product.

"Seriously, though," Haymitch says, "Plutarch is already talking about a Star-Crossed Lovers series of propos."

I roll my eyes and let out an audible groan. "Fabulous." Exploiting our on-screen romance for the cause. How very, very Plutarch. But to tell the truth, it's probably not a bad idea. Peeta deserves a chance to let the rebels know he's on their side. And mine. Although, if his last appearance on television was any indication, they must know he's been acting under duress.

"Annie!" It's Finnick's voice, and it's coming from a bed along the opposite wall, where he is in the throes of a nightmare. I give a nod in his direction. "Does he know?"

"Yeah. He insisted on going," Haymitch replies. "He had to be sedated because he refused to take no for an answer."

What the hell? Do people in Thirteen just walk around with handy sedatives and itchy, trigger-happy fingers? Come to think of it, who dealt that needle jab in my arm yesterday?

"I should probably tell you Gale went," Haymitch adds.

It takes a moment for this latest bit if information to register, and when it does, I'm not surprised at all. "Of course he did," I say. I sink back onto my pillow. It's just like when Peeta gave me that locket in the Quell. Willing to sacrifice himself so that I might have a future with Gale. And now, here Gale is, essentially doing the same thing.

I don't deserve either of them.

Just then, Prim walks up, grinning from ear to ear. "Glad to see you're finally awake." She fits a blood pressure cuff around my arm and begins taking my vitals. "How are you feeling?"

"Not well," I admit. There's no sense in pretending with her anymore. She can see right through me.

Haymitch stands up. "I need to get to Command." He pauses briefly before adding, "Plutarch's pretty hopeful they'll get back alive. In any case, try not to worry. Won't do any good." But even as he says this, a crease forms between his eyebrows. "Easier said than done, I know. See you later Prim."

"Bye, Haymitch." Prim's is positively beaming. It's the only thing that could lift my spirits during this dark time. I can't help but return her smile.

"What's gotten into you?" I ask.

"They want me to take the Medic's Exam."

"Already?" I really shouldn't be surprised. This is Prim we're talking about, after all. But as far as I know, medics are ranked as Soldiers. A title nobody is granted until the age of fourteen. Prim's fourteenth birthday is the better part of a year from now.

"Oh, they're not going to make me a medic yet," she explains. "They're just curious about how much I already know, because...well, I've been breezing through the courses." She tries to make it sound like it's no big deal, but she's clearly proud of herself. "I guess, they're impressed."

"Oh, Prim, don't be so modest," I say. "Of course they're impressed with you."

She finishes checking my heart. "I'm going to bring you your breakfast tray. You can leave as soon as you're done eating." Then she walks off.

Like I feel like eating.

"No, Annie!" Finnick sits straight up, clutching his blanket tightly. He looks frantically around the ward before locking his wild eyes on mine. "Are they back yet? Are they back?"

I shake my head.

"Oh." He loosens his grip on his blanket and exhales deeply. "Hi, Katniss."

"Hey, Finnick."

He takes his rope, now little more than a worn length of fibers, from his bedside table and slogs toward me. I make room for him at the foot of my bed. He takes a seat and immediately gives his attention to the thing he's been doing for the past thirty-seven days. Making knots. Today, however, he's so agitated, he can hardly keep his hands steady. He keeps having to start over because he keeps making mistakes.

"It will all be over soon," he mumbles, without looking up. I'm not sure if he's speaking to me or to himself. "One way or another, this agony will end."

"It's going to be a long day," I say grimly.

It takes a few minutes, but he eventually completes something resembling what he calls an eye-crosser knot. He holds it up to examine his work and, decidedly satisfied, he undoes it and begins another. "I hear congratulations are in order."

"Yeah," is all I say.

I quietly watch as Finnick loops the rope in and out, over and under. Pulling, twisting, looking it over, and beginning again. With each turn, he becomes more and more flustered, until finally, the frayed ends become so tangled that they cannot be undone.

"Ugh!" Finnick throws it to the floor in frustration. "Stupid thing doesn't work anymore, anyway! It just keeps my hands busy."

Prim returns with my food and, seeing Finnick awake, is quickly off again to fetch his. I guess pregnancy has its perks, because I notice my helpings are considerably larger than they have been. Unfortunately, the bland food and the anxiety of the rescue mission don't make for much of an appetite for either Finnick or me. But if I don't eat, I won't be allowed to leave the hospital, so I force myself to swallow a few spoonfuls.

I must be hungrier than I thought, because before long, my tray is empty. Not surprising, really, since it's been more than a day since my last meal. I manage to coax Finnick into eating a few bites, but I ultimately end up finishing his meal for him.

Haymitch catches us just as we are leaving the hospital and lays a new assignment on us. "A diversionary propo," he explains. "It has to be so riveting that Snow himself won't be able to look away."

Finnick and I both jump at the chance to help with the rescue mission. I'm not sure I have anything you'd call riveting, but I do have something that might suffice. The Capitol loves the Star-Crossed Lovers. So much that, in an unprecedented turn of events, Peeta and I were both allowed to live. So, when the camera is rolling, I once again play that angle, and talk about the day we met. Everybody loves a good love story, right?

Finnick, on the other hand...talk about riveting! Even I'm captivated. It's a good thing I went first, because there is no way I would have been able to follow that.

And Haymitch wasn't kidding, either. I did get off easy. Being forced into a marriage to someone who loves you is nothing compared to having to give yourself to the highest bidder every night. In fact, if there's anything the last five weeks have taught me, it's that I love Peeta back. I never want to be without him again, and, if he comes back alive, I'm going to tell him I'm ready for that toasting. We can't do it in Thirteen, of course. Not the way they ration food.

And suddenly it occurs to me. Where will we go when this is all over? Back to Twelve to rebuild? Another district?

I shake my head as though to clear it. I'm too exhausted to think about that right now. And besides...Peeta...might not come back alive. I return my focus to the task at hand and try not to think about anything else.

Thanks to Finnick's vast store of dirty Capitol laundry, this propo turns out to be very time consuming. The good news is it's late afternoon by the time we're done. The bad news is there are still plenty of hours left in the day, so I get permission to take Finnick hunting. Hunting is good. It requires focus, which will keep us from falling apart, and silence, which would otherwise be impossible to fill. And, it provides the added bonus of taking place aboveground. I never get enough time aboveground.

Finnick may be an expert fisherman, but he hunts with about as much skill as...well, as Peeta. Warning the game that we're out to get them. If my family were depending me, we'd be screwed. But since the only thing I'm really trying to kill today is time, it really doesn't matter if we bag anything.

Before too long, I detect a rustle coming from a nearby bush. I pick up a rock, and, just as I am about to toss it, Finnick and I are alerted to the sound of a hovercraft flying overhead. We both look up.

"It could be anybody," Finnick says dismissively.

He's right. Best not to get our hopes up. We may not get good news when they get back anyway. I turn my attention back to the hunt, and toss the rock. At the sound of it hitting the ground, a deer leaps out into the open. I let my arrow fly, and the animal goes down like a ton of bricks.

That's when my communicator goes off.

"Katniss Everdeen," I answer.

"They're back." It's Haymitch's voice. "All of them. They're being taken to the hospital."

The hospital...that means...

They're alive!

_All_ of them, he said!

"We're on our way," I say, eagerly. I turn to Finnick. "I hope you're ready to pop the big question."

I don't even bother to retrieve my arrow. Some other predator can have the deer. Finnick and I practically sprint back to the district.

When we get to the hospital, the place is in an uproar. Doctors and nurses are buzzing around the injured rescue team like a swarm of bees. Finnick quickly locates an unconscious Annie and is immediately at her side. I find Boggs sitting upright on a stretcher, looking a little haggard.

"Peeta's in the room at the end." He gives a wave down the hall. "We used some pretty strong stuff to knock them out, so he'll probably be out a while."

I start to take off, but quickly backtrack. "What about Gale? Is he okay?"

"Took a hit to the shoulder," Boggs replies, "but he'll be fine. They're working on him now."

After a quick nod, I hurry toward the room Boggs indicated. When I get to the door, I come to an immediate halt.

Peeta is there, completely oblivious to the fact that he, at this very moment, is the subject of Prim's phlebotomy practice. Under the supervision of an older medic, my sister swabs the inside crease of his elbow with alcohol.

I slowly walk toward them.

Peeta! He's really here!

He looks like hell. His lower lip is swollen, the right side of his face is badly bruised, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks. But he's alive, and he's here with me. Finally out of Snow's hands.

"Now find the vein," the medic instructs. Prim is a good student. Not bothering to point out that she has plenty of experience using syringes.

I watch as the phial fills with Peeta's blood. Prim immediately corks and labels it, and places it in a tray of other phials.

"You did well, Miss Everdeen," the medic says. "I'll drop these off at the lab and see you back at the nurse's station." Then she leaves the room.

I throw my arms around my sister, and my eyes fill with tears. It seems crying is all I ever do anymore.

"Oh, Katniss." She gives my braid a light yank. "You're such a hormonal mess."

I can't help but chuckle. I reach behind her back and return the gesture. From the corner of my eye, I see Peeta's face and hands spasm, and recall him doing that when I last saw him on television.

"He's still twitching," I say.

"It's a nervous reaction," Prim explains. "His blood pressure is pretty high, too. I think it's safe to assume he's been under a great deal of stress."

My eyes wander to a liquid-filled pouch hanging over the bed. "What's the IV drip for?"

"Dehydration," she says. "That's evident in the amount of weight he's lost in such a short period of time."

Peeta's body spasms again.

"I have to get back to work," Prim says. "Let us know as soon as he wakes up."

"I will," I say. And she disappears through the door.

I look down at my sleeping husband. Run my fingers through his blond curls. His blond curls! They're in my hand! I'm actually touching him! I feel the sensation of sweet relief run through my veins as the realization sinks in. "You're alive," I whisper.

I try to scoot him over to one side of the narrow mattress. Not the best idea, I soon realize. He's lost a lot of weight, but he's still pretty heavy. Still, I do manage a few inches, and decide that's enough for me to squeeze in next to him. Barely. I quietly remove my boots and rest my head on his shoulder.

I crane my neck and leave a kiss on his chin. "I love you."

For the first time in weeks, I think everything will be okay.


End file.
